What Do You Hear in These Sounds
by carsonfiles
Summary: At the end of their first year, the interns make sense of everything that has happened. Begins concurrent with Time After Time & continues in canon through finale. Latest chapters into what Season 4 would be if I were Shonda. Probably not, though.
1. The Memo

**What Do You Hear in These Sounds**

What Do You Hear in These Sounds

music and lyrics by Dar Williams

I don't go to therapy to find out if I'm a freak  
I go and I find the one and only answer every week  
And it's just me and all the memories to follow  
Down any course that fits within a fifty minute hour  
And we fathom all the mysteries, explicit and inherent  
When I hit a rut, she says to try the other parent  
And she's so kind, I think she wants to tell me something,  
But she knows that its much better if I get it for myself...  
And she says

Oooooooh, aaaaaaah,

What do you hear in these sounds?  
And... Oooooooh, aaaaaaah  
What do you hear in these sounds?

I say I hear a doubt, with the voice of true believing  
And the promises to stay, and the footsteps that are leaving  
And she says "Oh", I say "What?" She says "Exactly,"  
I say "What, you think I'm angry  
Does that mean you think I'm angry?"  
She says "Look, you come here every week  
With jigsaw pieces of your past  
Its all on little sound bytes and voices out of photographs  
And that's all yours, that's the guide, that's the map  
So tell me, where does the arrow point to?  
WHO INVENTED ROSES?"  
and...

Oooooooh, aaaaaaah  
What do you hear in these sounds?  
And...Oooooooh, aaaaaaah  
What do you hear in these sounds?

And when I talk about therapy, I know what people think  
That it only makes you selfish and in love with your shrink  
But Oh how I loved everybody else  
When I finally got to talk so much about myself...

And I wake up and I ask myself what state I'm in  
And I say well I'm lucky, cause I am like East Berlin  
I had this wall and what I knew of the free world  
Was that I could see their fireworks  
And I could hear their radio  
And I thought that if we met, I would only start confessing  
And they'd know that I was scared  
They'd would know that I was guessing  
But the wall came down and there they stood before me  
With their stumbling and their mumbling  
And their calling out just like me...and...

Oooooooh,aaaaaaah, The stories that nobody hears...and...

Oooooooh,aaaaaaah, and I collect these sounds in my ears...and

Oooooooh,aaaaaaah, that's what I hear in these sounds...and...

Oooooooh,aaaaaaah, that's what I hear in these...  
that's what I hear in these sounds!

_These lyrics are pretty straightforward, so you can probably figure out what this fic is about. I'm setting it up to be simultaneous with the finale, and it won't be particularly plot driven. More like a series of one-shots, giving you access to the characters and their thoughts. I'm dark & twisty, so sometimes I'm Meredith. And I can be ballsy and sharp edged to mask vulnerability, so sometimes I'm Addison. I'm really good at pretending that my life is completely different than it is, so sometimes I'm Derek. And I am socially inept, which makes me George. I'm more George than I'd like to admit, actually. I wish I were more Christina and Bailey. But what all that means is that since I am so many different people, I thought it would be fun to create a fic telling you what they are thinking. Or what I think they are thinking, because I am not Shonda Rhimes._

_Which leads to the disclaimer: I own no part of Grey's Anatomy, save for the DVDs and the magazine which I tracked down at a bookstore. And the Dempsey cover of the tv guide, which I didn't find until a week later because every female in the city got to the store before I did. See, if I did own Grey's, I'd have Christina's eyebrows. And Meredith's laugh. And someone else's figure, since I currently have Bailey's..__Oh, and I don't own any of Dar's stuff, up to and including the song quoted above. I'd be so hard to live with, if I could write like that._

**Chapter 1—The Memo**

It was pretty hard to miss; they had all seen it before seeing a single patient. Not only had it been emailed to their hospital addresses, it had been awarded a position of prominence on the locker room bulletin board, the white paper covering up layers of fading or faded offers for used furniture, pets, roommates or rooms to rent. Before their resident let them set foot out of the room, they all had to initial the paper, proof they had seen what they would all rather deny. Someone around here meant business.

* * *

TO: All PGY1 Interns 

FROM: Richard Weber, MD, FACS, Chief of Surgery

As noted in your original residency contract, Seattle Grace Hospital retains the right to require interns completing their first year to undergo a series of counseling sessions before continuing on to Post Graduate Year 2 status. Because this year has been one of unusual challenges both within and without the hospital, the board and I have decided that instead of requiring the typical career counseling, these sessions should be handled by a more traditional therapist, covering a wider range of issues and topics.

These sessions will be conducted by Susan Burson, M Ed, LMFT, and Jack Burson, PhD. This couple has extensive experience in both individual and couple therapies. The counseling services will be covered for the four sessions through the Residency Review budget, and after that through the psychological provision in our group medical insurance. Information discussed in these sessions will remain completely confidential in accordance with HIPAA regulations and professional guidelines. You will, however, need clearance from the therapists to continue in your residency program.

Please see Patricia to confirm your available times. I remind you that your cooperation in this is mandatory for you to continue in the residency program at Seattle Grace Hospital.

Thank you for your cooperation.

RW/pg

* * *

"Seriously?" Outrage made Izzie's whisper audible to everyone around her. "I just finished up with the in-house shrink, and with Heal with Love Sydney, now this?" The five interns were trotting behind Bailey who probably held the land-speed record for those under 5'2". And today she seemed to be going more quickly than usual. 

"Maybe, you know this could be a good thing," offered the intern standing next to her. "You've had a rough year, we all have. My dad died, my marriage is dying, Denny died, Meredith's mom died, Meredith di. . ." George's voice changed from a whisper to a squeak mid-syllable when the petite Asian woman to his left whipped around, piercing his confidence with a glare.

"Do not _start_ with the dead Meredith, we do not _talk_ about dead Meredith," Christina hissed. "Go frolic in some meadow with a skunk and rabbit and don't annoy the hunters."

Miranda Bailey came to an abrupt stop. Her five subordinates had been well trained to keep up with her; now they tried to stop, not to stumble over her. They would have succeeded, too, if Alex Karev hadn't been reading case notes for a coveted upcoming surgery. He kept walking, and in moments the whole medical group had collided and twelve arms arabesqued and windmilled in an effort to stay upright. Before any apologies—but after Grey's mouth let out a half snort, half giggle—the interns were backing away, backing away from the Nazi, and the fire in her eyes.

"You people. . ." The resident was rarely at a loss for words. She couldn't remember when it happened last, but it was happening now. "You _still_ do not get what you have done. Each of you, each ONE of you has participated in dismantling rules, the rules of this hospital, the rules of the practice of medicine. Rules that were put there for your protection, for your patients' protection. And you question why the chief thinks that maybe you don't have your lives as much together as you want the rest of us to think? Listen. A messed up doctor leads to messed up patients.

"So before you want to complain about the concern that maybe you don't have your head on quite right, you might want to think about that. About not doing harm. And about the rest of your careers, which could quite possibly be great. All of you, you all could be great.

"So let there be no complaining about any of this therapy or any of the other hoops you might be asked to jump through before you take the scalpel in your hands as residents. Because even if you don't want to be great surgeons, or even good ones, I would prefer that the doctors I mentor not fall short.

"Is. That. Understood?"

The five interns each managed to take a breath in the silence that followed, and then acknowledged that yes, they did understand.

Then the Nazi turned around, and strode down the hall. And because her interns were first stunned and then running to catch up, none saw the smile playing around her lips. Damn, that was almost better than her first day speech. She'd have to write it down when she got a chance, whip it out for the next batch of suck ups who acted like this. _Heaven help me, if any other group of interns decides to act like this. Heaven help the hospital and the practice of medicine if another group comes through like this one._


	2. The Meeting

**The Meeting**

The atmosphere was tense. Of course it was tense; these four could hardly work in the same hospital without drama. Crowded into the chief's small office, they looked like guilty children, told they would have to clean the desks or clap erasers for punishment.

"You're treating us like interns," the lone female said, twisting a pen between and through her fingers, like a miniature baton.

"You've behaved like interns." Chief Webber wasn't angry; he was determined. "And if you want this office and the job, you'll follow through. All four of you have dealt with substantial trauma and upheaval this year, some admittedly more than others. Do this, or miss the chance of sitting in this chair."

A throat cleared. "These sessions," said the aloof man at the back of the room, "They'll be confidential? Or will your therapists be reporting back to you on our mental health?" The other attendings turned to look at him. Burke had certainly had drama—what with the being shot and nearly forfeiting his career first to the bullet and then to lying about a tremor in his hand, but he had not been part of the bizarre love polyhedron that had been drawn over the past year.

"Confidentiality?" questioned the dark haired man. "Keeping secrets again, Preston?"

"Certainly not, Shepherd. But I'm not one to deny that therapy would help me regain footing. I simply wanted to know before I talk to Webber's person whether what I say will become common knowledge. I'd hate for you to have to share the spotlight."

Derek laughed, a short bark of humor that didn't fully reflect the smile in his eyes as he nodded to Burke, acknowledging the rebuttal. Their friendship was not the strongest, but he admired and respected the cardio-thoracic surgeon. And it was getting stronger. Derek needed guy friends, he knew that. He still missed his best friend, still struggled with the nausea and resentment of that betrayal. Even more than the betrayal of his ex-wife, with whom he had managed to form a not-completely uncomfortable working relationship, he hurt over the loss of his brother.

"I hate to interrupt, but chief, I don't think I need this." From the back of the room, Mark Sloan watched the other three attendings slowly turn to look at him. "I mean, not that I'm incredibly well-balanced. But I'm already seeing a therapist."

"You?" questioned Derek. "I wouldn't have imagined that you'd be able to see how clearly you need it."

""Come on, Derek, even you can see that behind this rugged and confident exterior, I'm self-destructive and self-loathing to an almost pathological degree."

"Oh, I see." The chief hadn't anticipated that. "well, then it should be simple for you to get clearance from the Bursons. I would like you to have at least one appointment with them to keep things on an equal footing."

"The Bursons? Jack Burson?" Mark smirked. "No sir, it will be no problem for me to see him. In fact, since this is going to be covered by the hospital, I'm more than happy to see him."

Addison was still looking in his direction, tapping her pen against her lower lip and teeth, and easily translated this reaction. "You mean, he's the one you've been seeing all along, and you are just glad to let the hospital pick up the tab."

Mark tilted one eyebrow up at her, then crossed the room to the chief's desk. "You let me know when, boss. I'll be there." He shook Richard's hand, then turned and left the room, winking at the other attendings as he went.

When the door closed behind him, the chief said to the three remaining attendings, "And you wonder why the board thinks he's got a shot?"


	3. The Morning, part 1

The Morning

By the time Alex got downstairs, there was only a half cup of burnt coffee left. _Somewhere, there has to be a 20 cup coffee maker. Or maybe just 2 twelves would do it. But I can't do this without coffee._ He slammed the carafe back into the maker and swallowed the bitter dregs in two. Then opened his eyes and looked around. His two roommates were concentrating on the floor. No, make that three roommates, because Dr. Shepherd-call-me-Derek-outside-the-hospital was crunching on his crappy health-nut cereal studying the worn linoleum.

"Let's see. . .judging by the happy conversation, I'd say that those Bursons have a very interesting day ahead." He smirked. "Who is going first?"

Izzie groaned. "Not me. I'm after lunch."

"We're all going in there today?" Meredith was able to laugh at this. "You mean, these poor people are going to have to listen not only to **my** year, and Derek's year, but your year, Izzie? They are so not making it until tomorrow!"

Alex grinned. "And my year, too."

Izzie rolled her eyes. "Alex, your year has been so tame, it's like you hardly even count. The most exciting thing that happened to you was that you gave George syph."

"No, _Olivia_ gave George syph. I gave _Olivia_ syph. Big difference."

"Whatever. Still, not much to compete with, you know, the poster children for dysfunction," Izzie gestured to Meredith and Derek with her coffee cup and included herself in the movement.

"Hey, I have my own secret pain, you know! Just because I don't flaunt all over the hospital that I have a noggin of neuroses. . ."

Derek's laugh stopped him. "Seriously? A noggin of neuroses? Do neuroses come in noggins?"

Alex seemed a little embarrassed. "Well, how do you put that? Like a school of fish, a herd of cattle. . .what would you call a large number of fucked-up doctors?"

Meredith joined in. "It's a murder of crows. I always liked that one."

Izzie slammed her hands on the countertop. "I know! It's a despair of doctors!"

There was a chuckle, a giggle, and next they all laughed. Suddenly the floor wasn't quite as interesting.

* * *

Before Meredith and Derek left the house, he pulled her to the side. "Listen. I want you to know, I'm there for you."

"Derek. . ." Meredith didn't want to go there, not at oh-dark-thirty in the morning.

"Meredith. No, look at me. This could be really helpful, for both of us." He pulled her into an embrace. "Even Mark knew that he needed someone to talk to after this year. We can't let him have the upper hand in mental health, now, can we? Can he be the most sane of this despair of doctors?"

She giggled up at him, not quite meeting his eyes. "I am not sure, Dr. Shepherd, that despair of doctors is quite the correct term. Surely there are some doctors who aren't despairing. Just maybe not at Seattle Grace."

"So, you'll try? You won't pretend, and use that word? Tell everyone how fine you are?"

And now she did meet his eyes, capturing the solid blue of his with her own eyes, the eyes he loved so much.

"Okay, Derek. I won't say that I'm fine." Her eyes were sparkling. The eyes that kept him guessing, because with each shift of her mood, the color followed. From as grey as her name to green to blue, her eyes were as changeable as her mood. Her nose wrinkled as she smiled up at him, and he felt himself falling again, falling still. Getting lost in the love that had changed his life, and made it worthwhile. And of the many smiles that Meredith had, this was the one that meant teasing, giggling and laughing.

He waited.

"Can I say that I'm all right?"

And for the second time that morning, they laughed at something that wasn't so much funny as it was a relief. A relief that laughter was possible, that love was possible, in a world that had shown them such sadness.


	4. The Morning, part 2

**The Morning--At Seattle Grace**

Jack's tray was crowded with two bananas, a bunch of grapes, a coarse-ground, whole grain wheatberry muffin and a mug of herbal tea. The chief had coffee and danish.

"I'm glad that you could get together with me this morning. I thought you might need a heads up about the group you are seeing today. One of the interns is Meredith Grey."

"Grey?" encouraged Jack, recognizing the last name as one that had figured into more than one conversation with this friend. But that had been more than twenty years ago. It was a common name, though. . .

"Yes, Jack, Grey. Ellis's daughter. She died this year, you know."

Jack shuffled through some papers. "You told me, she fell in Elliot Bay during the ferry accident. She was down for how long before you brought her back?"

"No, her mother. Ellis died." Jack looked up. "Oddly enough, the same day that Meredith was down. It was hours, Jack. She was down. . .I've never let myself calculate how long it was, but it was hours. Then just before, and I mean **moments** before, we got her back, Ellis died. Her valve surgery had been bumped because of the ferry. It would have saved her life, but because we were directing resources to the ferry survivors. . ."

"Including her own daughter." Jack thought a moment. Something was odd. "You found out the time of Ellis's death?"

"She died in my hospital, upstairs from where her daughter lived. It didn't take any amount of research. You know, she was lucid her first day here."

"Wait a minute, lucid? Lucidity was never Ellis's problem, Richard."

"Jack, she had Alzheimer's, Early Onset. I'd been visiting her in Rose Ridge. She was reliving the days of our residency. And then she came here. She was lucid for one day. That day. . .it was good. Then she died."

Jack made a sympathetic face that wasn't quite smiling; a smile would have been condescending, and Jack was anything but. Richard was a friend, a good friend. Jack knew the history here; he knew what his friend wasn't saying.

"Richard, do you know the difference between a surgeon and a psychologist?"

"No, Jack. What's the difference between a surgeon and a psychologist."

"When a psychologist needs a surgeon, he doesn't invite him to breakfast."

"Does that mean I should get Patricia to pencil me in?"

"Already taken care of, old friend. Already taken care of." Jack would make sure that his old friend was scheduled with his wife. He couldn't see Richard as a patient, not and keep any distance.

* * *

After breakfast, Dr. Webber escorted the Bursons to their temporary offices. Fortunately, the payroll and accounts payable departments had both recently moved off-site, and Patricia had managed to claim the space for at least a couple of months. They were actually offices, as well, complete with walls, doors and windows. Windows with blinds, so the hospital-at-large would have to work a little harder for its portion of gossip. The chief never asked Patricia—and she never volunteered any information—just how she had managed to furnish the offices, but the end results of her efforts were two rooms that bore little resemblance to offices, but rather appeared to be a casual den or tea room. A meeting space, to talk to friends. Or, you know, confess your inner fears to someone who has power over your career. They lacked the couches that a classic Freudian might require, but given enough pillows and an oversized ottoman, one could get pretty relaxed in either room.

Not only had Patricia worked her minor miracle with the spaces, but she had also managed to find a U-Dub undergrad hungry for any hospital experience, willing to work for close to minimum wage. Well, that, plus Margaret—that was her name, Margaret—had an understanding with Patricia that if she did her job, as mind-numbing as it was, there would be a nicely-worded letter of recommendation accompanying her applications to medical schools, signed by the chief of surgery at Seattle Grace. Margaret had also negotiated the privilege of sitting in the gallery to observe surgeries when her schedule allowed. She was a smart girl, and knew that if she played her cards right, the money would come later.

Margaret's duties were simple—tick off the names as they showed up for their appointments, inform Patricia (who would presumably inform Webber) when someone failed to show up. Keep the Bursons running on time. Prevent one arrogant doctor from barging into another's session with the Bursons. The rest of the time was her own. She could study for the single class she was taking this summer, solve a Sudoku or two, or even piggyback on the hospital connection to cruise the Internet. It was understood that of course, she wouldn't visit any porny sites, but she had to wonder if the sites with fanfictions for her favorite television show didn't cross that line. At least there weren't pictures. Usually, anyway.

That morning, after Margaret, Susan and Jack shared a 'get-to-know-you' coffee—or tea, for Jack—she gave them each the stacks of papers Patricia had delivered that day. For each intern or attending going through this counseling, there were two forms: a self-evaluation and a supervisor's evaluation. Each of these were very helpful if one was conducting career counseling, but their worth in this setting was questionable, at best. Margaret also gave them a photocopy of the schedule book, keeping the book for herself so she could confirm with the doctors their next appointments as they left.

"Who's up for you, Suze?"

"Hmm. That would be Meredith Grey. What a pretty name, you don't hear that much any more." Susan flipped through the stapled forms Margaret had given her, and fished out Dr. Grey's. It seemed slightly thicker than the others. "I think that instead of reading this before meeting her, I'll let her make her own first impression." She did look at the sticky note attached to the schedule. "Patricia makes a point that Meredith should be first. Hmmmm. Something about forcing her to max out her 80 hours so that Pat could manipulate the schedule. Hmmmm. . .

"What about you?"

"I have all attendings today, it seems. My first appointment is with Dr. Montgomery. Addison Montgomery."

They stopped speaking at the sound of the elevator chime. Their first compulsory appointments of the day had arrived.


	5. Deliver Me

**Deliver Me**

_Lyrics belong to Ellis Paul, Grey's belongs to Shonda & co._

_She can turn a room round on a dime,  
part a crowd like the Red Sea--she's Moses  
and stranger's eyes all fall and rise  
on her length like they're sizing up roses_

Earlier that morning, Susan had picked out the chair that would be hers. She'd be spending most of her days in it, so she needed it to be comfortable, to support her back and to forgive her the extra weight she had added over the years. Forty was heavier than thirty, that's for sure. The petite blonde sat down across from her.

"So, you're Meredith Grey. Would you prefer I call you Dr. Grey, or Meredith?"

The young girl blinked. "Um. . .Meredith. I mean, we're going to be talking about a bunch of. . .whatever. So I think Dr. Grey might be a bit. . .well, if we're going to be talking about the. . .stuff.: Meredith pointed at the papers Susan still held. "If we're going to _share_, about the, um, things that happened this year, I think I pretty much have to be Meredith."

"Okay, Meredith. Call me Susan." The two exchanged smiles. "Meredith, you pointed to these papers, but honestly, I haven't even looked at them. I wanted to hear from you first. So you could tell me, in your own words. Has anything particularly traumatic happened to you this year?"

_Delivery? she could deliver me  
she broke her own commandment:  
thou shall not steal from me  
my breath is gone that's burglary._

_Never trust a prophet in a party dress._

The silence dragged on, and Susan was second-guessing her choice not to prep for this. She watched as Meredith's face rapidly tried on a series of expressions, first soft, then hurt, then almost lonely and abandoned. And then her eyes changed from blue to green and filled with tears. _Crap. Usually I wait until the second session to make people cry._

Meredith looked up at the ceiling, firmly telling the tears to go somewhere else rather than down her face. She sniffled. Ok, she snorted a little bit. And then she looked Susan square in the eye. "Yeah. You could say that." Another snort. "But it would be one hell of an understatement."

As Susan waited, she noticed Meredith's nose begin to wrinkle. And Meredith's mouth twisted, but not to cry. From deep within the girl, a snort-like giggle bubbled. Then a real giggle. And there was no containing it. Susan didn't know why she was laughing, but couldn't help join her in laughter. And both of them sat, laughing, for what seemed like forever, before they could talk about the trauma that had begun Meredith's year.

_I'm here waiting on a train  
there are things that I can't explain  
like how I got tied to the tracks  
and why love goes down  
like some robbery _

Deliver me  
Deliver me

"Okay." Meredith finally seemed to have a grip and be able to talk, but there were no guarantees since this was at least her 3rd or 4th effort. "I have it aaaaalllll under controoooollllllll." She breathed in through her nose, and reached from being curled up in an oversized chair to the table next to her, which conveniently held a box of tissues. "Yup, that's me. Under control. No hysterics here."

Susan waited. That's what she did most of in her job—wait for someone to be ready to talk. Knowing when she should wait, and when she should step in was the hard part.

"You know, I think the easiest way to do this is to sort of give you the bare bones, in order. Then you can tell me which one we should talk about."

"Ok, the bare bones seems like a good idea." Susan waited.

"Just the facts. No anesthesia." Meredith nodded. "That's the best way to do this."

"Meredith." Susan's voice was firm. "You're stalling."

Meredith looked up, met Susan's eyes with her own, and began.

_There's a punchline on the sidewalk  
but the joke seems kind of cruel  
It's the ones your friends aren't telling  
that makes you look the fool._

"Almost first thing when I got to Seattle: I had a you-know. . .one-night-stand. I had turned over a new leaf on the way from Boston, but I slipped. I slipped a lot. . .but we'll get into that later. So this guy in the bar, I find out the next day, works here. As an attending. As in, attendings aren't supposed to even acknowledge that interns exist in human form, but solely as drones to do their medical bidding. So it was awkward when he kept flirting, and wanting to do the thing. You know. Date." Meredith's smile didn't quite qualify as a grin, but was close. "But then I took a chance and started to date him, which was fun. Until my boss caught me with her boss less than clothed. Actually it was still fun, the dating was fun, not dealing with my boss, that wasn't fun. It only got to be no fun when his wife showed up. From New York." The smile vanished.

_She seriously said all that in one breath? That isn't actually possible, is it?_ Susan wrote down a note to revisit the subject of the boss/boyfriend with secret wife. And waited.

"And I told him I loved him, and they had been separated, she cheated on him back in New York. But he picked her, he chose her, tried to work it out with her. So, yeah, that sucked. And I went back to my leaf that I turned over, and I turned it back over, trying to fill the hole." Meredith realized what she had said, and turned bright red. "I mean, I missed him. I tried to pretend that I was moving on, and I so wasn't moving on. But I got a dog. But the dog was a baddog, not a gooddog. He needed more space. So I gave the dog to Derek and Addison, because of the trailer." _Derek and Addison are the ex-boyfriend and the adulterous wife?_ Susan could hardly keep up with her notes as the verbal outpour continued.

"And then one day I had a feeling. That I was going to die. I mean, I didn't die, I died later, but that day I didn't die. But there was a bomb, a homemade bomb inside of a patient, and I was there. And then I was the one holding the bomb. And I got the bomb out, and gave it to bomb squad guy. And he left the room, and I followed, and he blew up. One moment he was there, and the next. . .pink mist. Nothing left. But the worst part about it was that Derek and I. . .we never got the chance to say goodbye. I couldn't remember when we last were happy, our last happy kiss. But I almost died that day, and then he came over to the house. And reminded me. In detail. So he remembered. How could he remember that and still choose his wife?" Susan circled the name Derek; it was obvious now that he was the wife-choosing ex-boyfriend.

"And then Doc got sick, the dog, my dog. Our dog, the dog I shared with Derek. And I started dating the vet. Well, I started dating the vet after I broke George, but we're good now, that's hardly even on the radar any more. I think George is fully recovered from whatever I did to him, because now? George broke George. I'll let him deal with that though. Anyway, first I started knitting, and then Doc got sick, and then I started dating the vet. Except that we were going slow, you see? Because I didn't want to be any more damaged. So we weren't sleeping together. But then Derek thought we were and he said. . ." For the first time since the torrent had started, Meredith seemed to be at a loss for words. "He called me a whore. Because I was dating Finn. But that was the funny thing, he knew all this other stuff, the really whorish things I'd done. I mean, at the beginning, he was really the one-night-stand who wouldn't leave, so he knew. And he knew about George. But there wasn't anything to know about Finn, but he assumed. And he called me a whore."

_So you step out into traffic  
cause it's safer on the street  
you react to perfect strangers  
as if the world's complete._

Susan was scribbling furiously, trying to keep up with what was a ridiculous amount of information for a bare bones summary.

"And then there was Denny. Well, Denny is really Izzie's trauma, but he died. And to do penance for not following procedure in a bad, bad turn of events, we had to put on a prom. For the chief's niece. Sounds insane, right? We turned the surgical wing of the hospital into a high school gym and had a prom. And I was there with Finn, and Derek was there with Addison and we were dancing and he was looking at me. And I couldn't breathe, so I ran. And Derek followed me, down the hall and into an exam room, and he said things. And they hurt me, but then he was looking at me and his face changed. And he kissed me. And we had sex. And it wasn't even angry sex, but loving, like. . ." and her face took on a reminiscent wishful look, ". . .like coming home to no kind of home I ever knew."

There was a longish pause, and then Meredith seemed to come back to the room. "And he divorced his wife. Or convinced her to divorce him. And we've been back together pretty much since then. I thought I had to make a choice between him and Finn, but really, there was no choice at all. He's it for me, and he says I'm it for him. And it's been okay. Or it was okay, at least, until I died."

Susan found her voice. "You died. And yet, you are here."

"Do you remember the ferry crash? I was there at the scene, and a patient knocked me into the water. And I was technically dead for a long time, but I guess this is where it helps to have friends trying to resescutate you, because they try harder. The cold water was the only reason I could be brought back. And that day when I died, my mom died as well. Oh My God! I didn't even tell you about my mom!"

_It's when you are anonymous  
you can pull the wool over all of us  
but when you lean  
don't fall on us  
broken more or less_

Susan smiled. "Well, even though it's sort of a joke, there is no law that we have to talk about your mom in therapy."

Meredith rolled her eyes. "Trust me. We'll talk about my mom. But in the just the facts version, all you need to know is that my mom? Famous surgeon. With procedures named after her and everything. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and died this spring. And she. . .was not very supportive of me."

_Have you ever been ashamed  
Have you ever been defeated  
crying, calling out her name_

"Not supportive how?"

"At all. I'm pretty much who I am in spite of her rather than because of her. But she did the best she could, too. I mean, she was a single mom."

After a moment or two of silence, Margaret tapped on the door, signaling that their time was up.

"Meredith, is there more to this bare facts version?"

The girl laughed. "You mean, is there an alien kidnapping or evil twin yet to come? Or did I ever go waterskiing wearing my leather coat? Nope, I'm pretty sure those are the high points—or low points, depending on how you look at it.

"So, yeah, I think that you can say it's been a traumatic year. But I do make it through these things. That's what I do. No matter what, I make it through."

_like love can never be repeated  
the whole worlds bringing you down  
for a million different reasons_

"Then let's continue next time. Go ahead and make an appointment with Margaret—I think she has the schedule book."

Afterr Meredith left the room, Susan buried her face in her hands. _Jesus, this girl had been through one hell of a year._

_It's just the end of one more season  
where love came to run you down_


	6. Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes

**Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes**

_She's a rich girl, don't try to hide it.  
Diamonds on the soles of her shoes._

Jack watched as the two women approached their makeshift office. They weren't quite comfortable with each other, but there was something between the two of them that he couldn't quite identify. As his wife ushered the younger of the pair into her office, he extended his right hand to the redhead. "Jack Burson."

"Hello. I'm Addison Montgomery." _A million dollar name to go with a million dollar style. Even if I didn't already know, she screams Manhattan without saying a word._

By the time they were settled in Jack's office, Jack had realized that this woman wasn't quite as strong as she pretended to be. There were depths here, mysteries. She had a desire to be seen as inpenetrable, but so clearly was not. He had only seen the top page of her notes, but knew that she had only worked at Seattle Grace for under a year. Before that, she had been in Manhattan. And Jack knew more about this patient than was written on the paper, because another patient of his had also made a move from Manhattan to Seattle.

_He's a poor boy  
Empty as a pocket  
Empty as a pocket with nothing to lose_

Addison sat on the front third of her chair and made immediate eye contact with the therapist. "Dr. Burson." She said his name like a statement.

"Jack."

"All right, Jack. Before this goes further, I want to know if you are capable of doing this. Of seeing me."

"I wouldn't be here if I. . .oh, because of Mark?" He got it.

"Mark. I assume he's talked about me?" As soon as she said it, she realized her mistake. "Never mind."

"I have had conversations with another patient of mine, who may or may not have the first name of Mark." _So much for maintaining confidentiality, Burson. Sloppy, sloppy work._ "And that other patient, let's call him Mike, shall we? Mike has mentioned a Dr. Montgomery, with the first name of Addison. But let me explain—Mike only knows one facet of his friend. And he actually knows that his friend is pretty complicated."

Addison exhaled in a giant woosh. "So you think you can listen to me, and not just hear what fits with what Mar—I mean Mike says? Shouldn't I just schedule with your wife?"

"Addison, between my wife and me, we're seeing half the staff of this hospital. You think she's not going to see anyone who has a complicated and conflicted view of you?"

_Sing Ta na na  
Ta na na na  
She got diamonds on the soles of her shoes,  
Diamonds on the soles of her shoes._

"Did you see who just walked in there, Jack? That was Meredith Grey. That was my husband's. . .my ex-husband's slutty intern." Addison listened to how those words sounded, as they hung in the air. "That was rude. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. But you could tell me. Why are you so angry at Meredith? And why apologize for it?"

And finally, Addison relaxed into her chair. "I'm not. That's the strangest thing. We aren't friends, and it's most likely we never will be. But I actuallly like the child. And—amazingly enough, I think she's good for Derek. Who, since you are going to pretend not to know, is my ex-husband. And Mike or Mark's best friend. Whichever. But Meredith. . .she's no more to blame in this than anyone else. And less to blame than I am."

"Tell me."

And so, she did.

* * *

_**Flashback:** Fall. JFK Airport. Queens, New York City _

People say she's crazy  
She got diamonds on the soles of her shoes  
Well that's one way to lose these walking blues—  
Diamonds on the soles of her shoes

Addison's feet were killing her. Any shoe crafted by Manolo Blahnik ran a half-size small, any idiot knew that. So why had she let the sales twit talk her into the size eights? She was Addison Forbes Montgomery Shepherd, she wasn't someone who was out-snootied by sales people! But Addison had been distracted that afternoon. She had been desperate not to have to go back to the brownstone—she hadn't been back there since the morning after That Night. And she wouldn't be back there again, not unless she went with Derek.

Derek.

She finally knew where her husband was. Not that he'd called her, oh no. That would have been too up-front, too straightforward for the couple that was known as AddisonandDerek, DerekandAddison. She'd heard it from Richard Webber, the doctor for whom she and Derek had worked in their residencies. He was in Seattle, of all god-forsaken places. Seattle, _Washington_. Not that she knew of any other Seattles. She couldn't figure out what Richard could be doing in the back of beyond, much less the neurosurgeon to whom she was married. Wasn't there a volcano there? She tried to picture a map of the state, but couldn't conjure up anything that would tell her how far Seattle was from Mt. St. Helens. Wait—was that Washington or Oregon? And where was Mt. Rushmore?

And who cared about any place that far west of the Hudson?

Not Addison Forbes Montgomery Shepherd, of the Connecticut Montgomerys and the Boston Forbes. Seattle was not on her list of must-see places. If she were forced to go to the west coast, she would go to Los Angeles. Perhaps San Francisco. But Seattle? The name of the city conjured up images of. . well, nothing. She had nothing to relate to that city. But now she was walking in her brand new, too small shoes through the airport, on the way to Delta flight 107 to claim some property she had been foolish enough to let slip away. When Richard called yesterday, he'd told her of a TTTS case—a woman was in danger of losing both twins—and he'd told her that Derek was there. Timing is everything. She had gotten his message within hours of discovering Mark was no more faithful to her than he had ever been to anyone else. She was just one of a harem of courtesans traipsing through his bedroom. And shower. And kitchen. And—never mind where. Now she was here, walking through an endless terminal in her too-small $500 shoes.

At least it was a non-stop flight. She always hesitated to fly Delta, because it seemed that no matter where she was going, they had her layover in Atlanta. Horrible airport. She'd never seen anything else of the city. Didn't care to. She figured that if she were on her way to hell (and who was to say she wasn't?), if she took Delta, she'd have a layover in Atlanta. Or maybe not; maybe that would be the final destination.

* * *

In Seattle, six hours later, she was amazed at how cozy an airport could be. She almost expected to see a grandmother serving cocoa to travelers at baggage claim. (Quite honestly, now that she was here, she realized that she could use a good dose of the juju which she and her husband used to ward off bad surgical karma. Let's face it, she would carry a rabbit's foot and a horseshoe if she thought it would help.)

_She was physically forgotten  
Then she slipped into my pocket with my car keys  
She said, "You've taken me for granted  
Because I please you, wearing these diamonds."_

Even thought the airport was small, of course she waited just as long for her bags as she would at Kennedy or Logan. Long enough for her to try to reach Derek again, and long enough to check her voice mail. There was a missed call from a Seattle area code, and who knew but the man could have decided that he wouldn't throw his life away over her one mistake and actually decided to be civil. Odder things had happened.

"Addison, this is Richard. I wanted to let you know before you walked into the hospital that the situation may be a bit. . .I know I told you I thought Derek missed you. And I think he does. But he is also seeing someone. I didn't think it was fair to you to let you come to Seattle Grace without knowing that. I know you asked me not to tell him you were on your way, and I haven't. But you should. Oh, and Derek performed surgery on me today, removed a small tumor. I'm fine. But come by and say hello when you get in, I'd love to catch up. I'm in room E19."

_Scratch the juju. Scratch the rabbit's foot, scratch the horseshoe. _This was a game, a battle that Addison knew well. She'd played it well all through medical school and the first year of their residency. She had played this game, and played it well, going up against prettier girls, sexier girls. Let's face it, even nicer girls. But Derek hadn't gone for nice. He'd gone for smart, sharp-tongued and witty. She had played that game and won it, and the prize was the life represented by the wedding set on her left hand. They were the Shepherds, the Couple Most Likely to Slice You Open and Perhaps Leave You Bleeding. The envy of their friends for how well they worked together. But gradually, their sharp banter had been honed further into razor slices that didn't make a pretense of humor, just pain. And even the sharpest tongue can erode to dull and quiet. That's where they had been, until That Night, until on her turn she threw the dice and not only did she come up craps, she busted. Lost it all in one stupid stupid move.

But now she had a strategy. She hadn't come all the way across the country just for a TTTS surgery. She would woo him with her aggression, tantalize him with feline grace. Grow maudlin over a couple of glasses of scotch. Bring up some of the favorite memories of better times. And then one thing would lead to another, and they would fall into bed, and he would realize that he couldn't live without her. A delicate strategy, with a hard shell. She queued for a taxi, and told the driver to take her to the nicest hotel in the city. Battle stations, gentlemen. Or gentlewomen. Because someone else was about to be caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

_And I could say Oo oo oo  
As if everybody knows  
What I'm talking about  
As if everybody would know  
Exactly what I was talking about  
Talking about diamonds on the soles of her shoes._

She checked into a room—just for the night, you understand. She expected to be installed back in Derek's house by the next evening. Lunchtime, even. She wondered what his bachelor pad looked like, if he had decorated it in the same style as the med school apartment he shared with Mark. Rock and roll posters on the wall, bookshelves created from bricks and wood planks, futons and tables assembled on the living room floor, using the included hex screws and following directions that weren't so much written but drawn.

_She makes the sign of a teaspoon  
He makes the sign of a wave  
The poor boy changes clothes  
And puts on after-shave  
To compensate for his ordinary shoes_

In her room, she dressed for success from the inside out. Expensive lotions and powders, lingerie with lace tatted by a woman in a small town in France and designed by Lisa Charmel, and the damned Manolo shoes. Expensive clothing and a coat that anyone with half an eye on the Parisian runways would be able to place as couture. In front of the mirror, she noted that as Derek took each of the layers off, he would find a softer one beneath. Her lips were scarlet; her hair reminescent of the 1940s career gal. Everything about her screamed confidence and success. Well done. He would have to get at least three layers in before he would see how shattered she was, and by that time he would be too far gone to notice. _So. Onward. Tally Ho._

She would stop by the hospital and visit with the chief. If the tide had turned and things were going her way (and it seemed to have turned, because the chief had called her, had invited her and given her the heads up on the other woman so things could be going her way) she would accidentally bump into Derek. Odds were that he would be hovering near Richard's room, one eye on the patient, the other on his career. So she would bump into Derek, remind him that they were AddisonandDerek, DerekandAddison, and then they could leave this godforsaken city, state, coast and return to the life-in-stasis that was waiting for them. The life that had been frozen waiting for them since the night she and Mark. . .since That Night.

_And she said honey take me dancing  
But they ended up by sleeping in a doorway  
By the bodegas and the lights on Upper Broadway  
Wearing diamonds on the soles of their shoes_

* * *

And the fates, or whichever forces were in charge of chance meetings, of husbands coming home from work unexpectedly (or mistresses, for that matter, because the same thing had happened yesterday) were on her side, for once. For she was not ten steps into the lobby of the hospital before she realized what was going on to her right.

_Good Lord, Derek, what on earth are you thinking?_ For her husband—the man who dressed as well, if not better, than she did, who could tell a $3000 suit from a $5000 suit at a glance—looked like Paul Bunyan. Or the Bounty towel guy. Or. . .Addison couldn't even think of another rough neck lumberman. But why should she rack her brain, when she had her husband in front of her looking like an off-Broadway imitation? He was adjusting the collar of—_My God, Derek, is she legal?_

_And I could say Oo oo oo  
As if everybody here would know  
What I was talking about  
I mean everybody here would know exactly  
What I was talking about  
Talking about diamonds_

And then she mentally shielded herself to withstand almost anything that Derek and the child could send her way, and walked over to her husband to meet his mistress. _Eyebrows up, Addison, keep your eyebrows up and remember: the best defense is a good offense. _

_End Flashback _

_

* * *

_

_People say I'm crazy  
I got diamonds on the soles of my shoes  
Well that's one way to lose  
These walking blues  
Diamonds on the soles of your shoes_

By the time Addison had finished recounting her trip to Seattle, her time was over. She was exhausted in a way that didn't usually happen with fewer than ten hours in surgery. Plus, she felt as if her emotions had been put through the wringer.

She looked up at Jack, and said quietly, "We're divorced now, of course. It didn't happen immediately, but we were over long before I wanted to admit it. Probably not the moment he walked in on me and. . .Mark. And maybe not the moment he met Meredith. But not long after. Sometime along the way, before I got here, DerekandAddison. . .AddisonandDerek were done. Now I'm figuring out how to be Addison. Addison and herself."

Jack nodded. "How's that working for you?"

"Can I let you know?" Addison laughed. "I am still in the fairly clueless stage. I may be stuck here a while, until I get a clue."

Jack nodded, again. "Talk to Margaret, set up another appointment. And maybe I can help you put your clues together when you find them."

He walked her to the door and opened it for her. She walked to Margaret's desk. As the two were talking, finding a good time for her next session, Susan's office door opened as well. Jack saw his wife laughing with Meredith, telling her to make another appointment. _Well, this is awkward_. He saw Addison smile at Meredith, and Meredith stop, keep her distance from Addison, and yet return the smile. _But maybe it's only awkward for a little while. . .and not nearly as awkward as I think._

_Sing ta na na,  
Ta na na  
Diamonds on the soles of her shoes._

_Diamonds on the soles of her shoes._

_

* * *

_

**Extended A/N:** I am not sure if anyone caught it, because no one mentioned it in a review. But at the end of Meredith's session, there's a funny something. Let me know if you got it, but don't spend much time on it. Particularly if you could be writing your own fic.

This chapter was really hard for me to write. There are some great Addison fics here, some people who have her nailed in a way that I only wish I could. As much as I love the Mer/Der of it all, I probably have more in common with Addison than I would like. (Meredith's insecurities are adorable, aren't they? But Addison at least appears grown up, so when she's insecure, it seems. . .pathetic isn't the right word, but it's close. I mean that in the nicest possible way, though.)

The most fun about this chapter was the research I had to do. I mean, I could have faked it, but it was great to find out that the shoes really do run a half-size too small. And to google "expensive lingerie" and create a wish list. _($500 for a babydoll teddy? Call it a dream list.)_ And to research flights from NYC to Sea-Tac and get the flight number. The research that wasn't quite as fun? Watching the "you must be the woman who. . ." scene another half dozen times, as well as the premier of season 2. Yeah, the room number is right. And I borrowed some other dialogue from that first Derek/Addison scene, gave it a slight tweak and presented it to you as her stream of consciousness. Because, if she said it, it must have been going through her mind earlier, right? But I couldn't bring myself to mention Russell Crowe.


	7. Point of Reference & Intern Lunch

**Point of Reference**

Meredith wanted to run. Walking into the space formerly occupied by Accounts Payable with Addison hadn't been bad; they managed to work together without incident. But having spent the last hour going over the ups and downs of her relationship with Derek. . .ups and downs? More like a graph of Oprah's weight over the last 20 years. More ups and downs than the best roller coaster she'd ever been on, but worth the ride. Since she'd maxed out her time at the hospital, she didn't have to rush back to Bailey for a new assignment, check on a patient, go deal with scutwork in the pit. . .she was on her own. She held back until Addison finished her whispered conversation with the receptionist, and then went forward to set her own appointment. _What was that girl's name again?_

That business taken care of she went to the elevator and rode down to the surgical floor to look at the board. Odd to be purposeless in this building. She had about an hour to kill before everyone else would probably be eating lunch, and she didn't feel like going home yet. OR1. She went to the gallery and stood, leaning her head against the window, watching the room below. She wasn't watching a surgery that would change the world or the practice of medicine; she was simply making contact with a touchstone. A point of reference. Sometimes her life felt like she was sitting in a train in the station, looking out the window, waiting to move. Other trains were in the station, their passengers doing the same waiting. Then one train moves. And sometimes she couldn't tell which train was moving, if her train was pulling out or if the train next to her was moving backwards. Or maybe she was moving backwards when she thought the train on the next track was going ahead. She couldn't tell. Until she found a point of reference, some stability to gauge her movement by. And her point of reference was in the operating room below.

The speaker next to her crackled. "Dr. Grey." The voice startled her out of her reverie, and she made eye contact with the surgeon below.

"Dr. Shepherd. I'm in the gallery. Communicating."

"Yes, you are, Dr. Grey. How did your morning go?" Derek turned back to his surgery, but Meredith could tell he was waiting for her answer.

"Ummmmmm," she smiled, really wanting to go there. But she didn't want to push him right now, things had been so tense lately. "This morning was good. It was good. And now? I'm going to get lunch with Christina, and then I'm going home. See? Communicating. And? Breathing on my own." She made sure to smile extra broadly, just in case he missed the smile in her voice.

Maybe he had, because his head whipped back around, but when he saw her exaggerated grin, he grinned back from behind his mask, the smile fully taking over his eyes. And forehead. _How does he smile with his forehead?_ She blew him a kiss, and went in search of her person. Her person was probably freaking out about now.

* * *

**Lunchtime**

Meredith was finishing her chicken salad and apple by the time Christina's tray slammed down on the table. She was saving her yogurt for last, because the cafeteria never had blackberry, ever. Except today they did.

"So, did you know that if you have an appointment with one of these people, that bumps you out of a surgery?" Christina seemed to be at a consistent simmer these days, just a hair short of angry-as-hell. "Apparently the rapists come before practicing medicine."

"I'm sorry. . .what did you say?" Meredith had heard, but she wanted to make sure she heard.

Christina opened her yogurt. "I can't say the word 'therapist' without putting a space after the first three letters. Because it's just a chance for someone to screw with your mind." She licked the top of the container before putting it on Meredith's tray. "Speaking of, how did your mind-fuck go this morning?" She picked up Meredith's unused spoon and dug in. "Yum. They have blackberry today. I got the last one."

"Think about it this way. How would you explain to someone the year I've had, without them knowing the basics? There was so much we didn't get to. We didn't talk about my mom, or hardly did. We didn't talk about Thatcher. We didn't talk about fake mommy. We talked about Derek, mostly." And Meredith realized that even if she had spent an hour talking about Derek, she hadn't really gotten to the complex _(fight? discussion?)_ whatever that was currently going on.

"Yeah, what's going on with McDreamy? Because you've got your Problems with McDreamy thing happening."

"Nothing's going on. We're fine." Telling would make it true, after all, and Meredith didn't want this to be true. Plus, she'd have to know what was going on to be able to tell Christina.

"Meredith, this is Christina. I know you; your face is the perfect barometer of your relationship. And right now, it says STORMY WEATHER." Christina pointed her stolen spoon at Meredith. "You know you want to tell me he's a jackass. Go for it! I need to hear someone else's troubles."

"Does that mean that wedding planning is going well? Have you found what you want to wear?"

Christina glared. Meredith smiled. "You know, you have this whole PO'ed bride thing, it suits you. You look good in angry."

Christina glared.

"Forget it, Christina. It's complicated. I don't get it, so how can I explain it to you? Besides, hellooooo—I've shared enough today. You want to know how I'm doing, I'll sign a release, you can get it from Susan Burson."

Izzie's tray landed on the table with a crash. "Oops!" The blonde intern was excited and flustered. "Guys, you'll never believe this. I had to talk to Dr. Prabu, you know, Raj, for a psych consult, and he said that he was in with Mrs. Burson this morning—"

"Susan," interrupted Meredith.

"What?" Izzie was confused.

"She'll tell you to call her Susan," Meredith explained.

"Okay, well, the deal is that Susan told him that she didn't need to see him for a full four sessions before clearing him. He's done. So maybe the same thing could happen to us?" Izzie's grin was hopeful. She glanced down at Meredith's tray. "Ooooh, blackberry yogurt! They never have that!"

Meredith and Christina exchanged a glance. _Was Izzie 'I Cut The LVAD' seriously thinking that she had a chance of getting a Get Out of Therapy Free card?_ Just then, George joined their table, and Alex pulled up a chair as well.

"Who goes next?" Meredith wondered. "Has anyone other than me gone in? Oh, and Izzie's friend Raj?"

Christina looked down at her watch, and jumped from the table. "I'm now. As in, 5 minutes ago. Crap. Where are they again?"

"Accounts Payable," said Meredith. "Or where it used to be. Now I guess it's Karma Payable." As Christina ran from the cafeteria, Meredith leaned over and called after her, "Have fun!"

"Kind of makes you wish this were televised," murmured George. "Not that I'd want my session public knowledge, but. . .seeing Christina share. . .that'd be worth it."

He looked up and realized that he'd spoken out loud. Izzie and Meredith were both looking at him horrified. "No. . .NO! No, I wouldn't want mine televised! That would be bad, very bad. So never mind."

"Dude," Alex was grinning, "You were right the first time. I would love to know what's going on inside that brain of hers."

"It's probably a very cold place," said Izzie. "Cold. . .and dark. With spiders."

"Hey." Meredith's voice interrupted the other's group reverie on the steely interior of Christina's psyche. "We should plan something for Saturday. I'm on until 11p, but don't you two get off at 7?" She gestured at Alex and Izzie.

Alex looked at her confused. "You mean a party, like the one that I wasn't invited to at the beginning of the year?"

"No, because I still haven't forgiven Izzie for that. Mostly because that's when I was caught by Bailey wearing Derek's shirt. No, just, I don't know. Not a party. A hanging out. We could watch some tapes, eat pizza? Because I have another session with Susan on Saturday morning. We won't have to make it a thing, you know. Just. . .hang out. Not the entire hospital staff. Just us." Meredith didn't know why she thought this was a good idea. Usually the hanging was spontaneous, whether it was at her house or at Joe's. But now that the suggestion was out there, she hoped that the rest of them thought it was a good idea too.

"Um. . ." George hesitated. "I think I get done at 8, because of hours. So yeah."

"Oh, and bring Callie, George." Meredith hoped that Izzie could be civil for the evening. "Alex, how does that sound?"

"I'll have to see, it depends on what Eva is up to. How her kid is." Alex sounded evasive, but only Meredith seemed to notice. And he avoided her eyes.

"Ok, so I'll make that chocolate cake, right Mer? Or should we do cookies? Yay, a party!" Meredith realized how excited Izzie had gotten, and needed to do damage control.

"Just us, Izzie. I mean it. I am not going to want a big thing, so if you want me there, don't invite the whole hospital. Just us. Just the family." Meredith pointed her yogurt at Izzie. "If the house is full, I'm not going to show up." She looked around at the rest of the table. "No big party, and just enough booze to keep Christina there. Clear?"

Alex swallowed his deli sandwich. "So, what, you and Shepherd having problems? Because, you know you could tell me. And I would comfort you. I'm a comforting guy."

Meredith picked up a fry from George's tray and threw it at Alex. "No, you're the Evil Spawn. You're Dirty Uncle Sal. We're wise to you." She picked up another fry, started to throw it, then reconsidered and ate it herself, followed by three more. Then she began to rummage around the debris on her own tray, looking confused.

"Hey! Where the hell is my spoon?"

* * *

**A/N:** So, people didn't quite get what I meant when I said I put something funny at the end of Meredith's session. When she's finishing up with Susan, she says that there's no evil twin, alien abduction or waterskiing wearing a leather jacket. That last? Would be what happened to coin the phrase "jump the shark." I have a weekly discussion with my husband on whether that has happened or not. He says yes. I say no. (But what would he know? He watches House, and Dr. House would have lost his license for assaulting patients about 60 times over by now.) 

There's nothing really exceptional in this chapter, save for the fact that Meredith is still being the human GPS & pretending like that's communication. And she knows that something is very wrong, but not exactly what. The sex in "Desire" didn't fix it. She's going to have to figure out a different solution; I would suggest using words instead of body parts. Derek is going to have to learn how to communicate as well. Maybe he'll get a lesson on that next. . .

Lastly, if you haven't yet, do take a couple of minutes to find the YouTube video of the Dar Williams song this fic is named for. It will be well worth your time.


	8. Once in a Lifetime, part 1

**Once In A Lifetime**

_And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack  
And you may find yourself in another part of the world  
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile  
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wie  
And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?_

Derek asked the resident to finish closing the shunt he had just installed. Not a cure, but it would buy some time for him to figure out where the pressure was coming from. And there was always the hope that it will resolve on its own. But he knew better. Once the patient's condition had deteriorated to this extent, a spontaneous reversal was highly unlikely. That meant that unless he could find the underlying cause—and solve it—this patient would walk around with a pressure valve in the back of her head for the rest of her life, risking infection and other problems. He nodded approval at the tidy job, grinned at the surgical team and exited the OR. As he scrubbed out, he looked at the clock. Damn. Time for that appointment with Burson. Derek resented being forced into therapy, no question. But there was also no question that he was on the verge of making some major mistakes—had already made some mistakes. The teakettle in his own head was boiling over with confusion and doubt, second guessing things that should be so solid. He tossed his dirty scrub cap and gown into the laundry bin and walked out of the room.

He got to the Bursons' offices a few minutes early and was glad to sit down in one of the comfortable chairs in the waiting room. Elbows on knees, face in hands, he sat and thought. _Where the hell do I start. I just need some clarity. Some distance. Someone to help me sort out what matters from what really matters. Someone to help me choose._ He felt the hair at the back of his neck stand a bit and knew that someone was watching him. Running his fingers through his hair, he looked up. The teenaged receptionist looked back down again. Derek rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, and then lifted his face once more. Again, the young girl turned away. He didn't look down again, but waited for her to look at him again. It wasn't long before she did, and when she did look his way, to see him waiting for her to look back, a full blush slowly covered her face.

"Um. . .you're doc, Dr. Shepherd?" she stammered.

"Yes, I'm Dr. Burson's 1:00. I think."

"Oh, yeah, and he'll be right out. But you're the neurologist? Dr. Derek Shepherd?" She seemed to know him, or know something about him.

"I'm pretty sure. Although there have been some questioning it lately. Why?"

She laughed, and then told him. "You operated on my roommate last fall. She had a pretty big crush on you. Well, I guess you knew that, because Kelly kept blushing and all. Sorry I was staring. Anyway, Dr. Burson should be out in a bit. He's eating lunch with his wife right now."

Just then the door opened, and a man about Derek's age stepped out and offered Derek his hand.

"Jack Burson, you must be Derek Shepherd. Come on in."

The two men shook hands, and Derek entered the office.

_Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down,  
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground,  
Into the blue again/after the moneys gone,  
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.  
_

Once both men were seated, a few moments of silence passed before Derek suddenly realized something.

"You've had Mark as a client."

"You know I can't answer that, Derek," responded Jack.

"You've had Mark as a client, and you've seen Addison already today," Derek persisted.

"Where are you going with this, Derek?"

"I'm saying, you already know me from two perspectives. Can I jump in the middle, or do you want to know any details before we start?" Derek had never done therapy before. There had been a few wasted sessions of marriage counseling with Addison, but that man had seemed clueless. Navel-gazing in general had always seemed like a poor excuse for narcissism to Derek. _Of course, that was before this year._

"We can start wherever you want to start. Do you have a jumping in place in mind?" Jack's voice was calm, reassuring. Something to cling to within the chaos of Derek's thoughts.

"I'll tell you. I've always known who I was. First I was the boy my father wanted, and then I was the man that my father wanted me to be. I was the good guy, the cowboy wearing the white hat. Doing the right thing, that's what I do. And now, I don't know. I've lost myself somewhere. I still want to do the right thing, but the right thing isn't there any more. There is no right thing."

"Why don't you tell me a story about being the boy your father wanted?"

_Flashback_

Derek was thirteen when he was chosen to pitch for his Little League Tournament Team. He still remembered the look on his dad's face when he told him the news, and remembered the sting of the slap when they shared the high five. This game was the most important game he had played in this year; win, and his team would probably end up being in the Little League World Series. Lose, and they would go home. They were playing, oddly enough, a team that was in his hometown, so the stands were full. He looked up into the stands and saw his dad's face. He was nowhere near his target pitch count, and easily put down the side, one-two-three. This was what it was all about, all of the practices in the back yard, honing his fastball into the strike zone marked on the oak tree that held his tree house. The painful bruising that accompanied his brief infatuation with the Niekro knuckleball, which he had never mastered. The pb& j dinners that he had eaten because he missed dinner with his family for extra practices. Even at thirteen, Derek's father had drilled into him that working for good things was worth it. And that sometimes, working for the good things was its own reward.

Derek was up. And like most pitchers, most good pitchers, Derek's batting skills weren't the part of his card that would put fear into the hearts of other teams. But this time, he connected with the ball, and just from the sound of the crack—_damn aluminum bat_—he knew he had hit the sweet spot. He put his head down and hustled to first, took the signal from the coach and made it to second, pulled up there. Next to bat was Charlie, who slammed it to the fence. Instead of watching the ball, Derek watched the third base coach, who gave him the signal to run as soon as the center-fielder caught the ball. He tagged third, and ran home, sensed somehow _(not hearing, because he could hear nothing but his own heart, not sight, because the only thing he saw was home plate waiting for him, and not touch or taste or smell, because really, how could those help?)_ that the ball was being thrown home and he needed to slide, so he slid, hoping to cross the plate before the catcher's glove came down. But he didn't.

Tagged out, he stood, took off his cap, dragged it across his forehead to wipe off the sweat g_otta get a haircut)_ and went to grab some water before pitching the next half inning. And then he heard what he didn't expect.

"Safe!"

But that wasn't true. And it never occurred to Derek that shutting up was the right thing to do, because it wasn't honest. And honesty was important to Dad, and important to him. So he looked at the umpire and said the words that would end his baseball career.

"He tagged me. I was out."

The umpire looked at him, shook his head, and did something quite unusual in any sport. He changed his call.

It wasn't long before Derek realized that honesty wasn't quite as important to his coach. To the other kids on his team. To their parents. After he'd been tossed from the game by his coach, and not just the game, from the team, he'd already been kicking himself mentally. His dad met him at the base of the stands, and before Derek could bring himself to look him in the eyes, before he could start to apologize for ruining what he and his dad had been working for, his dad stooped slightly, grabbed Derek's shoulder and told him.

"You're quite a man, Derek."

Derek was prouder than if he'd singlehandedly won the game. He had done the right thing.

* * *

_And you may ask yourself  
How do I work this?  
And you may ask yourself  
Where is that large automobile?_

That night, Derek ate dinner with his family. But before any of them took a bite, the doorbell rang. Derek's dad went to the door, and came back with a look on his face that Derek didn't recognize. "Derek, someone's here for you."

Nothing interrupted dinnertime at the Shepherd house. But Derek's dad nodded at his mom, and she told him to go see who was waiting.

A kid from the other team was looking at the wood planked floor in the foyer. Still dressed in his uniform, dirty, unshowered—and frankly, somewhat rank—hours after the game. Derek stopped in the doorway between the dining room and hall.

"Hey. What's up?"

The other kid looked up.

"Why did you do that? Why did you say you were out?" His voice didn't accuse Derek, like those of his own teammates had.

"I was, wasn't I?" Now Derek recognized the eyes. He remembered them hovering above home plate as he was sliding home. And he remembered the confusion in them after he made his statement. And he remembered how the kid had smiled when the ump changed the call. He was the catcher for the other team.

"I thought so. The ump didn't. You aren't supposed to argue with the ump."

"I didn't argue. I told the truth."

"Your team. . .they won. So it didn't change anything. Except we did get a couple more runs."

"Yeah?"

"I saw your dad hug you when you left. My dad wasn't there. I wish he'd seen me score."

A few more minutes of silence passed. The kid shifted his feet and turned away. "Thanks. I gotta go, it's a long walk home."

Derek glanced outside into the long shadows of summer early evening. "You don't have a ride home?"

"Nah, my dad. . .he's got the car out."

"Stay for dinner. My dad will drive you home." Derek didn't know this kid, but he knew him. And, besides, it was the right thing to do.

"You want me to stay for dinner?" The kid looked at Derek and grinned. "Sure. I'm always up for a free meal. You're name's Derek, right?"

Derek grinned back. "Yeah, Derek. And who are you?"

"Mark. Mark Sloane."

And as the two boys went back to the dining room, Derek knew that it was. It was. The right thing to do.

_And you may tell yourself  
This is not my beautiful house!_

_End Flashback  
_

Jack paused at the end of the story. When it was clear that Derek was done talking, he said softly, "That's a pretty solid sense of right and wrong for a 13-year-old. Most grownups wouldn't get that."

Derek laughed. "I can tell you this—my mom and dad were the only grownups who got it that night. But that story tells you what has driven me for most of my life: the right thing. I still want to be that guy, the one who does the right thing. But the clarity. . .the clarity to see what the right thing is, what I should do. . .it's clouded."

_To be continued. . .I needed to split this chapter here, because the next part is quite different. It will be up momentarily._


	9. Once in a Lifetime, part 2

_Jack paused at the end of the story. When it was clear that Derek was done talking, he said softly, "That's a pretty solid sense of right and wrong for a 13-year-old. Most grownups wouldn't get that."_

Derek laughed. "I can tell you this—my mom and dad were the only grownups who got it that night. But that story tells you what has driven me for most of my life: the right thing. I still want to be that guy, the one who does the right thing. But the clarity. . .the clarity to see what the right thing is, what I should do. . .it's clouded."

"When did you notice it was gone?"

_Flashback: Manhattan_

_And you may ask yourself  
How do I work this?  
And you may ask yourself  
Where is that large automobile?  
And you may tell yourself  
This is not my beautiful house!  
And you may tell yourself  
This is not my beautiful wife!_

"It's good, don't you think?" Derek heard his wife ask the question, but he had no idea what she was asking about. That Monday evening, Derek and Addison Shepherd were eating dinner together on the terrace of their Manhattan home, enjoying the late summer twilight by sharing a bottle of red wine. "The wine, it's nice. I like this. Woody, but not earthy."

"Mmm. Who told you about this label?"

"Savvy read about it, and she and Weiss toured the vineyard on one of their trips to France. She kept raving about it, and gave us this bottle. Don't you remember?"

"Mm." His answer was neither yes nor no, but just acknowledging that he had heard. _Wine was wine, right?_ He looked through the glass doors, through the reflection of the cloudless sky, into their Manhattan home, seeing it as if he had were seeing it for the first time that evening. Works by artists whose brokers promised his wife that they were the next big thing. Tastefully arranged furniture; couches by chairs by tables next to bookcases. Derek didn't know what titles the bookcases held; the books were chosen strictly by their appearance and contribution to the decor.

He and Addison had met in medical school and what had begun as a gentle friendship had gradually become more. They had married the first year of residency, in what she called a small comfortable ceremony, but he called an event of gargantuan proportion. His biggest regret was that his father hadn't been at the church, hadn't lived to see him marry the woman he knew he loved. Derek wasn't great with women—he'd had a couple of relationships, sure, lived with a girl his senior year in college. But somehow, Addison stuck with him through the four years of cadavers and sutures. When they got out, the time was right to make an honest woman of her. He was ready to settle down, and he could tell the night he proposed, she was too: it didn't come as a surprise. That comforted him; he knew that with Addison, things were right, they were peaceful. Mark, the best friend he'd made by being tagged out, the brother who ended up living with him in high school because his own parents were too flaky to raise a child, stood up with him as best man.

But now, sipping a glass of French wine, he felt like a bit of a foreigner himself. An interloper in the story of his life, a pretender. Looking south from their high-rise home, he could see the Statue of Liberty, which had been a gift from the same country that had given the wine. A bit closer, almost blocking his view of Lady Liberty were the two monstrosities that some called the boxes that the more beautiful Chrysler Building and Empire State Building had come in—the cold, sterile Twin Towers of the World Trade Complex. Mount Sinai had held a dinner at Windows on the World, in the North Tower, when he and Addison had completed their fellowships there.

But now, sitting in comfort that evening, he knew that his father would not be proud. That somewhere, he had missed his goal—he wasn't doing the right thing.

_Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...  
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...  
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was! _

End Flashback

"And of course, after the next morning, nothing was the same. At the hospital, we were all alerted that it would be a Code Orange situation—to expect mass casualties. No one went home, no matter how long they had been on shift. And we did get some admissions, but the mass injuries? Never came. People could be treated and released at a trauma station, or they didn't make it out. There were relatively few people who needed neurosurgery, not much more than a typical day. So I helped in the emergency room, and wished I could do more. But I couldn't. Nobody could."

_And you may ask yourself  
What is that beautiful house? _

"The smell. . .the dust, the clouds of smoke from Ground Zero were horrible, even as far uptown as we were. We sold our home, moved to the brownstone. Looking out the window and not seeing the towers. . .I don't think that anyone who wasn't there can understand how hard it was to have an altered view. We needed a change, even if it was to a view that still should have contained the towers. As long as it was through a different set of windows."

_And you may ask yourself  
Where does that highway go? _

"I knew I should be doing more. I kept toying with the idea of Doctors without Borders, or some sort of thing that would allow me to do the right thing. But I never decided, never made a move to do that. I just kept working. There was always another patient, another consult, another surgery. And that's what happened to my marriage."

_And you may ask yourself  
Am I right? ...am I wrong? _

Jack looked at Derek. "I thought someone else happened?"

"It wasn't the adultery. It wasn't any of the. . .what are they, the four As? Adultery, abuse, addiction and. . ."

Jack laughed. "I think it's just three As. But you're saying there was adultery?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "You don't have to be coy. You know there was adultery. Addison. And Mark. But no, there was no personal upheaval to cause our marriage to fail. No miscarriage, no disagreement about having children. I didn't hit her. She didn't hit me. No drunkenness. Just a wider and wider space, until there really was no us any more."

_And you may tell yourself  
My god!...what have I done? _

"Derek, it doesn't always have to be something big. Sometimes it happens. People grow apart."

Derek shook his head and looked away from Jack. "You know, I keep trying to believe that. But it shouldn't be that way. My parents were married for thirty years before my father died. We made a promise. I should have been there. But I couldn't do both."

"Do both?"

"Be a loving husband, be there for Addison, and dedicate myself to the job I love the way I needed to. And that's important. Because now, I have a chance to be chief."

"You are a candidate, yes."

"Webber promised the position to me when he offered me the job. I'd been sitting on the offer, hesitant to bring the subject up with Addison. Until the night I caught her with Mark, then everything changed. I didn't have to worry about how she would take leaving Manhattan, she wasn't a factor."

"But there are other candidates."

"My ex-wife, her ex-lover, and my new best friend. The competition. No wonder we all need therapy. But the other candidates aren't the problem. The problem is Meredith."

Jack had wondered when this name would come up. "How is she a problem?"

"How can I describe Meredith? She's the most fiercely independent, needy, smartest, most foolish, practical, incandescent woman I've ever known. A wonderful mixture of the ethereal and mundane. And I love her. I've loved her since. . .since the first day I knew her. Since our first surgery together. I could tell you that story. But all you need to know is that right now? She is my world. And I want to do whatever I can to help her. I can't imagine being without her. But there's a point, isn't there? How much can I do for her, without losing me? And what if I can't do both? If I can't be the man she needs, and be the man I need to be?"

Derek leaned forward, and Jack was frozen by the intensity in his eyes.

"What if loving her costs me doing the right thing?"

_Same as it ever was...  
same as it ever was..._

"Derek, if it's love, wouldn't that make it the right thing? To love her?"

A tap on the door interrupted the silence after that question hung in the air, a question Derek hadn't thought of asking himself.  
_  
Same as it ever was...  
same as it ever was...  
same as it ever was...  
Same as it ever was..._

"Derek, we haven't really wrapped anything up, but we're out of time. Check with Margaret, check your schedule and come back in." The two men stood, shook hands, and then Derek left the room.

_Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down  
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground  
Into the blue again/after the moneys gone  
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground._

* * *

A/N: Tracing Derek's change (or change back) to 9/11 makes perfect sense to me, on several levels. First, remember that he was dissatisfied before, as he sipped wine with Addison, overlooking the Manhattan skyline. I hope you realized that was on 9/10/01. But the dissatisfation didn't come into focus until after. I was in NYC the week prior to 9/11, visiting inlaws. I have pictures from 9/4/01--date stamped by my camera--from the Staten Island Ferry, with the towers in the background. We got home on the Sunday before. As I sat, Tuesday morning, glued to the television set, I recognized the storefronts as ones we had visited. My husband worked across the street from WTC. My father-in-law saw the first plane fly over Manhattan as he exited the subway. For someone who is genetically engineered never to leave Manhattan, even if he thought the towers cold & sterile the night before. . .that they disappeared was a fiercely personal tragedy. I'm an Atlantan, and in 1996, we hosted the Olympics. And a bomb went off in a crowded park one evening. The tragedy was not anywhere as large as 9/11, but as an Atlantan, it was personal. to. me. 

So that becomes a big part of the disintegration of DerekandAddison/AddisonandDerek. Or maybe a catalyst, to speed up the decay, because it was already going on. Sometimes it isn't a big personal tragedy. Sometimes people get married for the wrong reasons, or get married for the right reasons, and then grow apart. And that's what I see happening here.


	10. I Won't Be Your Yoko Ono

**I Won't Be Your Yoko Ono**

_I wonder if Yoko Ono  
Ever thought of staying solo  
If she thought of other men and  
If she doubted John Lennon  
Worrying that he'd distract her art_

"Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap." Cristina ran through the halls of Seattle Grace Hospital, cursing any and everything that had happened that year. Yes, everything. And particularly everything that had led to her having to go to this meeting. And she was late. She was good; she knew she was good. She had a MD from Stanford and a PhD from Berkeley. She knew medicine. She was the best intern in her year. She would rather perform a colostomy on herself than go to this. . .meeting. And she was late. But still, she was the best.

So why am I so nervous that it will all come crashing down? Cristina found the door she was looking for and crashed through. "Crap!" 

_Sitting in the Apple sessions  
Giving John her music lessons  
Challenging the warring nations  
With her paper installations  
Did she guard her Yoko human heart_

The kid behind the desk looked up at her. "Cristina Yang, you're late."

"You can't just waltz out of the OR when you're saving a life you know." Cristina pulled out a sure-win excuse. "Not my fault. Who are you?"

"I'm the nobody who gets to tell big scary doctors they need to be on time. So be on time! Go on in, she's waiting for you." The kid pointed to the cracked door to her left. For a moment, Cristina didn't move. . .but then her love for her career, her need to cut powered her feet, and she entered the office.

"Christina Yang, come in." The voice was soft, unassuming. "I'm Susan Burson. Have a seat."

"Actually, I don't know that I'll need to. There are plenty of interns who could benefit from being here, but I am not one of them. So, if you could just write that memo for Baily or Chief Webber. . ."

"Cristina." Now there was a little more firmness in the voice. "Sit down."

Cristina sat.

"You could at least pretend you didn't think I was an idiot." _Yep, that would be the smart way to go, Dr. Yang. Don't piss off the rapist._

"I'm sorry?" Cristina injected a note of apology in her voice, but kept it a question. _Never admit anything._

"I see here that you suffered a miscarriage, which resulted in the loss of one of your fallopian tubes. I see that you are in a relationship with an attending, which is against hospital policy. I see that you have a note in your personnell file about participating in hiding said-attending's physical disability which could easily have cost a patient's life. So, yes. I think that there is probably enough going on within Cristina Yang to at least fill up a few moments of my time. I know you aren't here because you think you need therapy, and you've made it clear you don't want it."

"You're right. I don't."

"But if someone got up and walked out before surgery, when they had a festering something that would kill them, telling you they didn't need it, would you respect that patient?"

"Well," Cristina managed to put words together for this tiny, pissed-off woman. "It's called going Against Medical Advice, and I don't like it, but it happens."

"When it happens, what happens to the patient?" pressed Susan.

"Nothing good," answered Cristina, meeting her eyes defiantly.

"Well then. If you want something good to happen, you'll tell me a story about your year. Otherwise, you're going AMA."

Cristina clenched her jaw. _Seriously? Seriously, this woman thinks I'm going to sit here and tell her, talk to her about Burke?_

"Fine." She was terse. "The one thing about this year? It's changed me. I've changed. I'm soft."

"Soft, how?"

"I'm no longer the best. I'm not the doctor I want to be."

_Well, they could talk about me  
Yeah, they could talk about me  
Throw me to the velvet dogs of pop star history  
But I won't be your Yoko Ono  
If you're not good enough for me._

"What kind of doctor is that?" Susan's voice had become soft again, but Cristina was wise to her now. That softness was an act.

"I used to have an edge. I could do what needed to be done. Now. . .I'm blunt at the edges, I've dulled. I care."

"You care. And this is a bad thing?"

"My choices aren't mine any more. I can't. . .I'm having a freaking wedding!" Cristina jumped up and began pacing around the office, walking from chair to couch and back. "I don't want a wedding, I never walked around with a pillowcase on my head pretending to be the bride. I never bought a Bride's magazine, even when I was a teenager. I don't want the Easter Egg colored dresses for my friends—I don't really want friends." Chair. Couch. Chair. "Who cares whether the invitations are actually engraved? Oh, I'll tell you who. . .Burke. Burke cares. And he wants me to care." Cristina's frustration was evident. "I keep making these changes, taking a step back from what I wanted, to give him what's important to him. And the changes are not a problem, they aren't the problem here. The problem is that the decisions aren't mine. I wouldn't have to decide about puffy frilly dresses because I'd be wearing a hot dress from my closet."

"But you are deciding to take those steps, have the bridesmaids, wear the dress. You aren't being coerced into anything, right?"

"As if. No one could coerce me. I'm doing it by myself. I want to do it. You don't get it."

"Then tell me! Explain it."

"I don't have an opinion on cakes. Let the caterer decide! I want Meredith to wear whatever she wants!"

"Those things aren't important to you, the things that make up the wedding part?"

"They're trivial. They are distractions, they are details that, quite frankly, someone else can handle. But he takes it like a mortal wound if I say that. If I tell him that I don't care whether the embossed matchbooks have gold lettering or silver lettering. So it steals my attention from the things that really do matter."

Susan saw an in. "Which is?"

"Giving my attention to the goal I've been working on most of my life! I can't become some other person that Burke wants me to be, someone who cares about crap like flowers and matchbooks and cakes. If I become that person now, when do I change back? Or do I give up? That's the problem, that I'm giving up something I should be keeping. I'm giving up."

"What are you giving up?"

Cristina Yang did not cry. That was a well known fact, much like giraffe's have long necks. Mice have tails. Yang doesn't cry. Okay, there was that one breakdown into hysterics after the baby. . .but that was the drugs, mostly. And her mother. Who wouldn't cry dealing with that?

"Me. I'm giving up me."

And with that, she sank to the floor clutching her knees, not sobbing hysterically as she had all those months ago, but still. . . two incriminating drops of saline-laden liquid began a journey from her eyes. _  
_  
_Some will give their love for fashion  
Others trade their gold for passion_

Susan got up and knelt next to Cristina, not wanting to break into her personal space but willing to comfort her if asked.

_I don't have the goods to start with  
Never had the reins to part with  
Still, I hope you take me seriously._

And there they stayed, until Cristina sucked her lips into her mouth and stood up.

"Does that count?"

Susan had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the lengths the other woman would go to just to lock away emotion.

"Sure. But you need to make another appointment before I write the memo."

_'Cause I think I could go  
Deep as the sea of Yoko  
You don't know a person like me  
I could sell your songs to Nike  
And for all you know_.  
_I could save your soul  
As only true love can change your mind  
Make you leave your screaming fans behind

* * *

_

**A/N: **This was really hard for me for a couple of reasons. First off, I'm feeling a lack of reviews. That's pretty sad, because this chapter & the Derek chapters are the ones I am the most unsure about. I'm trying not to get all McEmo about it, but I will tell you that the next bit is going to be hard to write, and feeling the love from someone who enjoyed reading this would be nice. Or getting constructive crit would be good as well. Heck, even a "THIS SUX" would mean that someone took the trouble. . .don't make me beg, it's so. . .pathetic. Please?


	11. A Day in the Life

**A/N:** Briefly, before I get into this: This story will try to remain in canon through the end of the season, but I'm not sure I can tolerate that. We'll see. I delayed putting this up because I was afraid 'Testing' would pick up where the previous episode left off. There are some 'medical medical' factoids here, all of which are true to the extent I could verify them with WebMD & Dr. Google. But just like I'm not Shonda, I'm not a doctor, so don't trust them for your own health. And the scene with Bailey and Meredith was written Monday (and posted to another Grey's fic site), so you can imagine the best part of Thursday's episode for me were the words C. Diff. This starts the morning after Derek turned around at Mer's door, because he saw her taking shots of tequila with Alex and Izzie.

* * *

Meredith woke up Saturday morning to the familiar sycopated mariachi rhythms of a Jose hangover. She managed to fall quietly out of bed, get into the shower and turn it on full blast, letting the warm water pound her body. She hadn't cried the day before; she hadn't cried about Susan, hadn't cried about Thatcher, hadn't cried about Derek. She wouldn't cry, wouldn't give them the satisfaction. _Except Susan. Susan deserves my tears. Poor Susan. _Her stepmother's case had been so weird; she presented with hiccups, ended up dying from sepsis. She didn't know exactly how it had progressed, since she'd been mostly just observing George and Bailey run the case. _So what, I lose something like a parent, Thatcher blames me and Derek doesn't show up. Just another rainy day for Meredith Grey. _She had woken up early, though, and was bound and determined to get into the hospital, pull a Cristina and cherry-pick a surgery. One to be performed on a complete stranger, someone she had never met before. Preferably neuro, so she'd be sure to see Derek. _Derek didn't show up last night. _And Meredith forced the tendril of doubt that snaked into her heart and throat back into a cage. _Something happened. He said he would always show up. This isn't about me running down the hall, away from Thatcher and the slap, not wanting to be the drama of the moment in the hospital, running away from the people who let me tell my father his wife was dead. _But that same tendril of doubt was finding fertile soil.

Alex's morning wasn't any better. He spent the night listening to Ava's words, _"Why can't you be that nice for someone you have feelings for?" _What did she want from him? He wasn't that guy, dream on. He didn't even want to try to be that guy. So Dr. Montgomery didn't want him, didn't want his half-heartedness, didn't want his heart. Her loss. He had no intention of playing the rebound guy, not even for her. Had he forgotten how to be a boyfriend? Had he ever really known? He roused himself out of bed and trudged to the shower. _Rise and shine, rise and shine!_

Izzie woke up blearily, showered and came downstairs just in time to hear the door slam as Meredith left. _Bitch. Couldn't she have waited just a few minutes for me? _She got herself some coffee and loitered around, enjoying the peace and quiet of the house. She missed George, missed the mornings with him. Missed his companionship, missed their shared jokes. Yesterday, when he told her that the job at Mercy West looked like a good shot, all she could see was her, missing him. Her water was boiling. She threw the rest of her coffee into the sink, and set a tea bag to steep. Time to go.\

* * *

Meredith was flipping through the charts for the morning's surgeries when Bailey grabbed her by the elbow.

"Grey, I didn't expect to see you for another twenty minutes at least. How are you holding up?" Meredith suddenly realized that this short black woman was the closest thing to a mother she had ever had.

"Dr. Bailey, what caused the sepsis? What made Susan. . .what happened? How did it progress so fast?"

Miranda Bailey took a deep breath. This death was hers. And the aftermath that it had dealt her intern was also hers. "When she was given the broad-spectrum antibiotic, as you know, it killed most of the bacteria in her colon. Both good and bad. In rare cases, people who are carriers of _C. diff, Clostridium difficile_, have a reaction. The _C. diff_ takes over, because it's no longer being held in check. The balance of bacteria is thrown off. And when _C. diff_ takes over. . .there's only a short time to act. And we missed that window."

"And then she developed toxic megacolon." Meredith's tone was level. She was just checking the medical details.

"Yes. Grey. . .I'm sorry."

_Sorry. Why was Bailey sorry?_

"Don't be. I didn't really know her that well."

"No. About your father. I should have told him, you weren't that involved with her case. It shouldn't have happened that way."

"No, it's good. I'm good, I'm glad. Now I don't have to wonder. Or think about him."

Bailey's eyes searched Meredith's face, looking for a different answer, but found nothing. "Okay, then. Go ahead and take this chart. Should be a straightforward case, she's an AM admit scheduled for surgery this morning. Take her down to pre-op and get her prepped."

Meredith looked down at the chart in her hand. _Rachel Jenkins, bed 27A. Acoustic Neuroma. Excellent—just what I was looking for._

* * *

Meredith only had time to review the chart and speak briefly with the patient as she got her settled into preop before rounds began. She went back down to join Bailey and the rest of the merry band of interns, only to go right back to Mrs. Jenkins bedside. 

_Where is Derek? Shouldn't he be in for this?_ Usually the attending or resident in charge of a case would be listening during rounds so that the interns could be grilled appropriately. But Dr. Shepherd was nowhere to be found.

"Grey, are you presenting this?" Bailey's voice was kind.

"This is Rachel Jenkins, 38 year old female, who presented with loss of hearing, status post severe respiratory, sinus and bronchial infection," Meredith began. "MRI showed intracranial abnormalities, which were diagnosed as Vestibular Shwannoma, also known as acoustic neuroma, a benign tumor which forms near the vestibulocochlear nerves."

"Treatment?" Baileys eyes stayed on Meredith.

"Because Mrs. Jenkins is quite young and her hearing is not degenerated with age, I would use the middle fossa approach, which has the advantage of not compromising hearing. However, the retrosigmoid approach would also be a valid path and also provide for low probability of hearing loss. The choice between the two would be up to the operating surgeon."

"In this case the surgeon is going with middle fossa." _There he is. _Meredith turned to see Derek striding into the room and shaking hands with the patient and her husband. _He looks pretty crummy. Disheveled, even. What happened to him last night? Something kept him from coming over with dinner, was it me or him or something else entirely? How would someone normal deal with this? Someone who hasn't been quite as damaged? Someone who isn't expecting to be dumped at any moment. Someone with a different last name. Someone not me. _

After Derek apologized to the patient for missing the first part of rounds, he quizzed Bailey's interns on the procedure. Meredith was front and center with her answers. _She looks tired. Anguished. And questioning. And. . .confused. _Yet she had her facts about the case down cold, so there was nothing he could do except give her the chart. _In all fairness, I can't give her surgeries when she hasn't earned them, but I can't withhold them just because we're. . .whatever we are._

"Dr. Grey, the case is yours. Get another MRI so we know exactly what this tumor is doing today, page me if you see any changes and I'll see you in the OR." Derek noted the order on the chart, and clicked the top of the pen before he placed it into the lapel pocket of his lab coat. He gave a smile to the Jenkins couple and nodded to the group of interns.

He avoided meeting her eyes, although she tried to flag him down a couple of times. _I can't have this conversation here in the halls of the hospital. I can't get perspective here, I can't figure out how to make our love work. To help her, and to still be the man I need to be. _

As Bailey and her group of interns moved to the next patient, Cristina looked at Meredith with questioning eyes.

"What, is McDreamy being McAss again? What did you do? What did _he _do?"

"I don't know what he did. I don't know what I did. It's like. . .all of the sudden there's this hole, pit, a huge chasm. An abyss. A canyon. The Grand Freaking Canyon. And he's way over on one side, and here I am, on the other. I don't like being across the canyon from him. But I don't even know what made the canyon, so here I am waving. I'm waving across the canyon, and I don't think he can even see me from his side. What makes a canyon, Cristina?"

"Erosion over millennia makes canyons, Meredith. I have to write vows. Burke is making me have a wedding. So, what, are you two split up?"

"No! Or. . .I don't know. We had a good conversation yesterday. A couple. It felt like we talked. I said things. And he said things. We talked. But he didn't come over. And he said he would, that was one of the things he said. And I'm lonely and he won't talk. Do you think he's mad? What are you going to vow?"

"I think he's McAss whenever he gets all 'boo hoo, I didn't get my way'. I don't know, what should I say?"

"Yang," Bailey's voice shattered the peace of their private conversation. "Do you mind giving me the update on this patient?" Cristina looked up, startled. At some point in their conversation, they had entered a patient room, and Burke must have been with the patient. Now they were both staring Cristina down. Fortunately it was the room of one of her post-op patients, so she started in easily.

"Mrs. DeWitt, aged 56 year old female, status-post aortic root repair and gortex replacement neccessitated by a dissection at the root thought to have been a result of Marfan's syndrome. Current plan is to monitor the patient through the post-op care, get her up and walking to accumulate two miles before discharge. She will also be seen by the social worker who will advise her family on getting monitered for future aneurysms and other typical complications of Marfan's." Cristina punctuated her delivery with a nod and smile.

"Thank you, Dr. Yang. A word with you before you do continue." Burke's voice was as smooth as the creamy chocolate color of his skin. The rest of the doctors left the room and headed over to the next patient in their service. Burke guided his fiancee just outside the door, and held her by the shoulders. "Cristina, we are getting married in a week. You were the one who wanted to write our own vows, and unless you want to stand before our families and just ask for a scalpel or pickups. . .I'm asking you to write something down. On paper. To give to the pastor."

"Fine, Burke, it's not like I have any, I don't know, studying to do. You're right. I'll just whip something out right here. 'mkay?" She smiled up at him, a seriously fake smile and he knew it. Frustrated, he pushed his glasses back up onto his nose, pursed his lips and nodded at her. He walked away.

* * *

In the scrub room before Mrs. Jenkins's surgery, Derek kept glancing at Meredith. She could feel it. Her skin was sensitive to the touch of his eyes, always had been since the very first night at Joe's. She knew when he was looking at her, because his gaze took up so much space. His focus burned away all oxygen from the room when it was on her. But each time she looked back at him, he concentrated on his nailbeds or his wrists. Or looked into the OR, and then back to his hands. But when she looked back down, he would look at her. 

"Derek."

"Let's just go in there, okay? Get this done, and then we can find a space to talk." He rinsed his hands and arms a final time as she finished her own prep. The scrub nurse gloved them both, and they entered the OR. They worked together in sync; the surgery went smoothly. But their normal closeness, the _intimacy _they usually felt when Meredith assisted him. . .it wasn't there.

"She had an upper respiratory infection. Sinusitus." Derek spoke so softly that Meredith almost didn't hear him.

"I saw that in her chart, she had bronchitis on top of it. But how does that factor into the tumor?" Meredith reached for the retractor just before Derek asked her to hold it.

"Often these tumors progress so slowly that the patient doesn't notice the change in their hearing. But something happens, like a bad case of sinusitus, and when the hearing doesn't come back, they notice. I had one patient who thought his ear wasn't right after an airplane flight. Mrs. Jenkins thought she was seeing the ENT for a sinus lavage, that her sinuses had gotten clogged. Instead, here she is."

Meredith looked at the woman on the table, listened to her breath sounds. "She's having brain surgery, and she thought it was just a cold."

"Sometimes getting the small problems treated lets you take care of the bigger problems. If she hadn't noticed the hearing loss now, she might not have noticed until it was too late."

"But the tumor is benign." Meredith knew that, she'd read up on this.

"Benign, but they grow. And they extend into the angle between the cerebellum and the pons, and pressure there is never a good thing. Why would that be, Dr. Grey?" Derek's questioning was soft, challenging. Meredith flicked her eyes to meet his.

"At that angle, the fifth, seventh, ninth and tenth cranial nerves would be impacted. She could lose taste and sensation in her face, have some facial paralysis. She could have lost the ability to eat, since her gag reflex would be gone." Meredith realized that if this woman hadn't gone to see her doctor, had passed off her hearing loss as no big deal. . .she could have lost much of what made her life special. _Smiling. Eating. Tasting. Talking. Kissing. All gone, because the patient diagnosed herself, and attributed hearing loss to a cold._

"Correct, Dr. Grey."

The two completed the surgery. "Dr. Grey, would you like to close?"

"Thank you, Dr. Shepherd. I certainly would." Derek shifted his spot and allowed her to take charge of the surgery. He watched in careful concentration as Meredith closed the skull flap behind Mrs. Jenkins's ear. He evaluated each suture she took. And when she had finished, he nodded his approval.

"Nicely done. Let's go tell her husband we got it all, and she's doing well. Make sure you keep tabs on her in post-op."

"Dr. Shepherd, I have an 11:00 with Susan Burson, but I'll let whoever is on duty in post-op know."

Derek pulled the mask off and tossed it into the scrub room hazardous waste bin along with his gloves. "What a coincidence. I've got a 11:00 with Jack. Let's walk up there together."

"Hmmmm." Meredith thought for a moment. _What the hell, go for it._

"Let's not walk, Dr. Shepherd. Let's take the elevator."

**A/N: **Yeah, me again. I just wanted to say that I have more information about Marfan's syndrome than I would like if you are interested. Remember Burke & Cristina's first date? Also have some information on acoustic neuroma, because when I had my severe sinusitus, etc, my doc was convinced I had the tumor instead of just residual hearing loss afterward. Oh, and if you read this previously, you'll notice that I changed Mrs. Jenkins's name from Rebecca to Rachel. (Remember, Ava told Alex she was Rebecca.) Between the name thing, the C. Diff and the train analogy (slightly different, but still), I'm having a hard time remembering that I am not Shonda and have no rights to the characters, that I'm just writing as an act of love and fandom. But all I need to do to remind myself is think about Derek's final lines to Barfly Lexie. Derek? The reason Mer isn't the shiny sparky girl in the bar, the difference between Season 1 Meredith and Season 2 Meredith? Can be summed up in this line: "And you must be the woman who's been screwing my husband." Sorry you don't like the woman you helped create, Derek. Drop a pair and deal.


	12. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

**This chapter has gotten 125 hits and no reviews. Please review if you have any response to this chapter at all, because it was very difficult to write. I am trying to get 4 updates up between now and Thursday's finale, and your comments will encourage me. I can't stress enough how difficult this was to write--probably about 18 times as difficult as it was to read. Thank you for reviewing.**

**A/N**: _Between the C. Diff reference, the train analogy and the name Rebecca (which was the AN patient's original name), I'm having a hard time convincing myself that I don't own Grey's. But it's sadly so. If I owned Grey's, Meredith would have been in therapy the moment it crossed Derek's mind that she might be suicidal. That she didn't swim. Yeah, she'd have been seeing a counselor as soon as she was dry. Because that's what someone who loved her would do. And since my name is neither Bernie Taupin nor Elton John, I don't own the lyrics to the song either. _

_I have to warn you: this chapter is dark. We've gotten hints about Alex's childhood, and I took them and went dark, dark, dark. You could say that Alex's childhood makes Meredith's look like the Bobbsey Twins. _

**

* * *

****Goodbye Yellow Brick Road**

_So goodbye yellow brick road,  
Where the dogs of society howl  
You can't plant me in your penthouse  
I'm going back to my plough._

Alex entered the room, and sat down in the least comfortable chair. His second appointment with Susan was so not what he wanted to be doing this morning. Ava was on his mind. His intern radar was pinging, and he didn't know—yet—whether his concern was wholly medical. Not that he was all Izzie over her, but the lady was like, jeez, like his daughter somehow. He'd seen her come into the hospital not knowing anything, and now—well, she still didn't know anything about herself. But she was able to peg just about everyone else in the hospital. Not him. She was completely wrong about him.

"I'm not that guy," he blurted out to the therapist.

"Which guy would that be?" Susan's eyebrows lifted.

"The one who barbeques, plays catch with the kids. Why would anyone think that I'm that guy?" Alex shifted in the chair.

"Who thinks you are that guy?"

"Ava. And so does Dr. Montgomery. Which is dead wrong."

"But when you were in here before, you told me you were attracted to Dr. Montgomery, right?"

Alex shook his head. "Nope. I said she was hot. And yeah, she's sexy. And yeah, we had sex. But I'm not her boyfriend."

Susan tilted her head. "Are you her friend?"

"Guys can't be friends with hot chicks. Doesn't work. And I don't do boyfriend."

"You don't do boyfriend?"

"And I won't do husband."

"Won't?"

"Can't."

"How was the sex, Alex? Was it worth it?"

"Dude, it was hot supply closet sex. Of course it was worth it."

"Last time you sat in here and rolled your eyes at all of your fellow interns, having affairs with attendings. What changed?"

"She started it." Alex shifted, uncomfortable with the juvenile echo in those words.

"She started it, and then what happened?"

"I went for it. I didn't know she wanted this whole. . ." Alex waved his hands around, "the whole thing. I would have told her. I just thought she wanted to end the bet with Sloane."

"So you went for it, and had. . .hot supply closet sex. And you don't want to be her boyfriend?"

"She's just. . .about a thousand miles from where I am. And I'll never make it there, never catch up, because I started so far behind."

"Where did you start?"

_When are you gonna come down?  
When are you going to land?_

_Flashback_

When Alex was 8, his father took him to gigs.

Which was cool, because he got to hang out with the other guys in the band and their ladies. He'd get one of those non-alcohol beers from the bar, even though they still had a little bit of booze in them and they weren't supposed to sell to kids. But his dad was in the band, so it was ok. During the show, his dad would hook his smokes under the strings of his bass, and take an occasional drag. Alex would watch as chicks would dance right in front of his dad, showing some skin as they moved. And sometimes when the nights went long, he'd fall asleep in a booth, or in the back of the gig van. And he'd dream of those same ladies, dancing to the rhythms of the bass guitar.

_I should have stayed on the farm,  
I should have listened to my old man._

When his dad would bring him home, he'd remember being carried in, hearing the pissed voice of his mom. And he'd pretend to still be asleep, because he didn't like making his mom so pissed, because then she'd just fight with his dad. And the fight would sound like it was about him, but it really wasn't. It was about the chicks that were dancing in front of his dad, the chicks he could still see, his eyes closed, dancing and grooving with their arms raised over their heads. The chicks who would talk to him during band breaks, gush over how cute he was. The same chicks who would offer to help his dad out after the show. And Alex didn't know exactly how they would help, they wouldn't make the load out any easier, but he had an idea. Because he'd seen movies and magazines enough to know how a lady could help out a man.

_You know you cant hold me forever,  
I didn't sign up with you.  
I'm not a present for your friends to open;  
This boys too young to be singing the blues._

By the time he was 18, he could hardly remember adoring his father. Could hardly remember the nights that his dad brought him along to gigs that ended in hissed whispered fights between his mom and dad. Those days were long gone. They didn't fight about the smokes any more, either, nor the booze. His dad was on to harder drugs, harder women than the coed groupies who used to finish off nights on their knees in the back of the van. He doesn't remember the first time his dad hit his mom, that's what he tells himself. He won't let himself remember that it was one of those after-gig fights, when his mom got a little to much up in his dad's face about exposing her son to the grimier aspects of life.

He won't let himself remember that he could smell the comforting combination of nicotine, beer and pot on his dad's jacket before it all went down. Then his mom just fucking went too far, and Alex was tossed to the ground. He heard the smack of his dad's hand and his mom hit the wall, and she screamed like an animal. Jesus, his mom was loud. But Rose, his kid sister, never woke up, and Alex scurried to his room to wait it out.

No, he never remembered that.

_So goodbye yellow brick road,  
Where the dogs of society howl.  
You can't plant me in your penthouse,  
I'm going back to my plough._

But he remembered the night the beatings ended. There hadn't been any gigs for a long time, and so the chicks probably weren't kneeling down in front of his dad either. He had begged his mom to leave so many times, told her he would help, saved his money from the pathetic part time job bussing tables down at the diner to help her get away.

But she loved him.

That's what she said—she loved the man who bruised her face, bruised her very self as he degraded her at least once a week. She worked two jobs to pay the rent and for some food. Alex's dad kept saying that all he needed was a break; a break he would have gotten long ago if he hadn't been saddled with such a shrew for a wife and two bastard children that he didn't even think were his.

_Back to the howling old owl in the woods,  
Hunting the horny back toad.  
Oh I've finally decided my future lies  
Beyond the yellow brick road._

But Alex knew he was his father's son. From the time of his first shave, when he had splashed water on his face to rinse off the stray hairs and flecks of foam, he had looked up to the mirror to see his father's sneer. His father's cocky grin and curled lip. He was his father's son.

That was the day he went to the weight room of his high school and started working out. And when he had bulked up enough, using some of his saved busboy money to buy the protein powders and vitamins, never the 'roids though, because that was just another way to become more like his dad, when he could bench twice his own weight, when the other guys on the wrestling team laughed about him not being able to put his arms down when he walked, then he knew he could step in.

But he didn't. He couldn't tell you why, but maybe there was some memory there of his dad before the gigs. Before the booze and the smokes and the chicks. And the fights seemed to be going away, getting easier.

Until the night his dad noticed Rose. She was 15 by then, and if she hadn't been Alex's sister, he would have agreed that she was hot rather than beating the shit out of any guy who said it. She was hot, but she was smart, and if Alex had his way, she was getting the hell away from this house and this town so that she could be. . .something like happy. But then he saw his dad notice as well, and when his dad noticed, the look in his eyes wasn't paternal.

_What do you think you'll do then?  
I bet that'll shoot down your plane.  
It'll take you a couple of vodka and tonics  
To set you on your feet again._

It was the look he would get when a dancing girl would lift up her arms, and the midriff top would ride up just enough to show the swell of her breast, and that girl would get an invitation to the back of the van. And when his dad (and the rest of the band, because they always split the tips, always) was done, sometimes the girl would be crying too hard to come back inside to meet her friends so they would be sent outside to meet her and take her home.

Alex drew the fucking line right there, because his beautiful sister was no chick. So the next time his dad came home, started something up, Alex stepped in.

He stepped in, and even though his mom begged him not to, he tossed the sonofabitch out on his ass. Followed by whatever ratty clothes Alex felt like giving him.

And the next day when his dad showed back up, all apologetic, Alex met him at the front door. And turned him away.

When he left for Iowa State the next year, he took his sister with him. Enrolled her in the public school near campus. She made straight As those years, and as he was going to med school, she went to ISU. Full ride. This year, the year of his internship was her senior year at college. She was a Tri-Delt. A Phi Beta. She'd edited the newspaper for the last two years. He knew she would make it, that his Rose would have the dream. She could choose, she could have it all if she wanted. And when she married, she would marry a guy who would never touch her, not in anger anyway. And they would have their two kids, and if they were sons, they would play baseball. And her husband could barbeque in the back yard, invite the neighbors for a couple of brewskis.

But not Alex.

He was his fathers son.

_Maybe youll get a replacement,  
There's plenty like me to be found—  
Mongrels who ain't got a penny  
Sniffing for tidbits like you on the ground._

He thought he could be different, thought he had gotten far enough away. Tried to do it with Izzie. But instead ended up losing to the breathing corpse of Denny Duquette. That was his own fault, because of Olivia. Olivia, who—let's face it—was the Seattle Grace version of a groupie, totally willing to go down on any doctor who asked. And every morning, as he shaved, when he splashed that water in his face, he confirmed that his father's face was the one staring back.

And he knew that no woman would want him.

He couldn't play catch.

He couldn't barbeque with the neighbors.

He couldn't be faithful.

He wasn't that guy.

_So goodbye yellow brick road,  
Where the dogs of society howl.  
You can't plant me in your penthouse  
I'm going back to my plough._

_End Flashback_

Alex stopped talking. He felt his jaw clench down, felt the grinding of his teeth. Stared at the ceiling. How long would he have to stay in here with the results of this word vomit? He couldn't even look at Susan, who was listening, judging. His whole career depended on her. He couldn't advance without her say-so. And now she knew.

Knew about him, knew the truth. And how he'd never be whole, never be able to offer himself to a woman, truly love a woman. It just wasn't part of him.

But that couldn't keep him from being a doctor, could it?

His pager went off. Saved by the fucking bell. It was Ava. Either she was crashing or someone didn't realize where he was right now, but either way he was getting out.

"I've got to take this. I'll make another appointment." And Alex had run from the room, escaped, before he realized that Susan was still sitting, sadness in her eyes, nearly in tears from the defeat she had heard in the young man's voice.

_Back to the howling old owl in the woods,  
Hunting the horny back toad.  
Oh, I've finally decided my future lies  
Beyond the yellow brick road._


	13. I Fought the Law

**A/N:** Still not mine. Because if it were, I'd know already (instead of just having this bad feeling) that Mer/Der were going to be the cliff, and they'd keep having stupid fights and never actually talking. And I'd know which part of the Bang was going to stand up the other at the altar. But did you know that The Clash covered "I Fought the Law"? Yeah.

This takes place as Meredith and Derek are on their way up from the surgery to the offices formerly known as Accounts Payable. And as Alex is doing the boot scootin boogie out of his session because he's ashamed of oversharing. Oh, and remember, this is all before Testing 1,2,3.

**I Fought the Law**

Meredith thought this was probably the worst elevator ride in her life. Wait—maybe not worse than the one she, Addison and Derek took together in the days before the 'Prom'—when he had been so angry over finding her at Finn's. But that ride had been painful because of the cumulative damage, the pain she'd been going through for months and Addison was there to try to bridge the burning tension between them. This elevator ride was intense and quiet, and the silence was icy numbness. She tried to sort out the reasons behind the tension, each theory on a mental slip of paper_. . .communication. . .not swimming. . .breathing for me. . . wanting to be chief. . ._and then just as she thought she knew, a mental breeze swept through, and her neat stacks puddled into a mess.

She cleared her throat.

"Derek?"

And this time, when he glanced her way, a smile tweaked the edges of his mouth. _Ok then, ok. Smiling is good._

"Are we. . .can we be. . .we're okay? Because you seem. . ."

He looked sharply at her, and seemed to recognize what she was asking. The elevator chime sounded, and he took that step through the doors as an escape.

"Derek!" She called after him, found her feet and started nearly running. His head start and longer stride meant he was nearly halfway down the hall.

"Not now, Meredith. Not. Now." And the terseness of those words was a physical force, pushing her the side of the hall, and throwing her into memories of standing in the nurse's station, going over charts and hearing the the Shepherds bicker as they passed above. _Not now, Addison. Not now. _Shocked into looking up when Addison spoke her name, pretending to move on with her day, ignoring her own reaction.

But now she was the one being pushed away. She was the one being put to the side and she didn't even know why.

* * *

Derek slammed the door of Jack's office, and stopped to take a breath. _She needs to ask? She pushes me away, time after time, keeps me distant. . .and wants to know from me what's going on?_

Jack was not impressed. "Is there a problem?"

_Breakin' rocks in the hot sun  
I fought the law and the law won—  
I fought the law and the law won._

"It's so hard, trying to build a relationship with Meredith. She won't let me. . .it shouldn't be so hard. Why is she making it so hard?" Derek's sigh as he sat down was one of a man close to giving up.

Jack studied him for several moments, then stood. "Derek. Excuse me for just one moment. I'll be right back."

Before Derek could say yes or no, or even think of a response, Jack had left the room.

He blinked.

This was not the way he envisioned therapy. He thought there would be. . .well, something. Some way of sorting out his thoughts. Settling on priorities, dealing with the possibility _(probability)_ he wouldn't be chief. _Figuring out how to help Meredith to open up. Figuring out Meredith. My directions are off—the compass needle is spinning. I'm disoriented. All I need is to get a surface, a space, and then I'll be able to find north again. And when I do, when I get my bearings, I'll be able to see. I'll be able to see the way from here to there. _

He heard movement and then Jack was back in the room, taking his seat and leaning back in his chair.

I needed money 'cause I had none  
I fought the law and the law won,  
I fought the law and the law won.

"Okay. So what about you? How are you doing in all of this?"

"I guess that depends on which part of the this you are talking about."

"Well, in your first session, you didn't talk about Meredith at all. But now, you want to talk about her issues. Let's talk about how you are feeling about her issues."

"Aaaaaaah," Derek's breath came out in a vocalized howl. "Frustrated. Incredibly frustrated."

_I left my baby and it feels so bad,  
Guess my race is run._

"What is she doing that frustrates you?"

"She takes off. Whenever something happens, she wants to go to earth, hide out, and not deal for a minute. She refuses to take responsibility for things. She's been having a really hard time, and I can't make her trust me."

"You can't make her trust you. Should she trust you?"

"Of course she should trust me. I love her."

"Meredith isn't someone who trusts easily. Have you earned her trust?"

Derek's eyes tensed and lightened with a flare of anger. "You mean, other than divorcing my wife for her? Other than risking my career for her? Other than pulling her dead body out of Elliot Fucking Bay when she decided not to swim?"

"You did those things for her?" Jack spoke softly.

"Of course I did them for her. Who else would I have done them for?"

"I would hope that you divorced your wife for yourself. And you made your own choices for your career. And rescuing her from the water. . .that was just the right thing to do, wasn't it?"

_She's the best girl that I ever had  
I fought the law and the law won,  
I fought the law and the law won._

Derek slammed his fist to the table next to him. "I have **sacrificed **for her." His voice was nearly a bellow. "And she will Not. Let. Me. In!"

"But before you sacrificed for her, what happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Derek. Meredith is seeing my wife. At this moment, even. I have seen her chart. I have seen your ex-wife. That puts me at a slight advantage over some other therapist who wouldn't know when you were trying to snow them. Cut the bullshit, think back. Take yourself out of the equation. Why do you think that Meredith might not trust someone at first response?"

"I know she's never had anyone to depend on. I want her to be able to depend on me, to open up to me." Derek's voice was even, but it barely masked his anger.

"Now, think about this past year, and consider the reason why she might choose any other person in this hospital to trust before she trusts you."

_Robbin' people with a six gun  
I fought the law and the law won,  
I fought the law and the law won._

Derek's eyes flared with another surge of anger. His first instinct was to leave. He didn't have time for this. He didn't need to go over and over the events that had led to his divorce. "Look, Burson. I don't know where you get off, putting things in that way. What you are doing is a violation of Meredith's confidentiality. Don't you realize that?"

Jack's laugh lacked humor. "And over all of this, Meredith's problems are what you are concerned with. Let me tell you how therapy works, Dr. Shepherd. You don't get to come in here and get to bitch about someone else. Save that for a night out with your guy friends. Here, you talk about yourself. You talk about your own feelings. You aren't in here to fix Meredith. You're here to fix Derek. Figure out where you are broken. Accept that possibility, that some of these problems lie within you. Or you will forever be railing about how a woman doesn't understand you. How can you possibly expect another person, Meredith, Addison, or anyone at all, to give you what you need, when you don't even know yourself?"

"You're so sure that the problems I'm having with Meredith are because of my issues." Derek couldn't look at Jack, didn't want to see his face. "Why? How are you so ready to point your finger at me?"

"You're the one sitting in this office. If there are problems in a relationship, they don't just belong to one person. Both people contribute. And all one person can do is work on their own." Jack's voice remained calm.

"So you tell me, Doc." Derek was growling through clenched teeth. "Since we're not doing brain surgery here, I guess you can be the expert. To fix Derek. Just where should I start to fix Derek?"

"You could start by telling me why you chose Addison."

_I lost my girl and I lost my fun  
I fought the law and the law won,  
I fought the law and the law won._

The question took Derek by surprise. He hadn't thought of choosing Addison in months—even before his reconciliation with Meredith. He thought back to the few days, maybe it was even a week, that he had thought it would end easily. God, that seemed like such a long time ago. But it was less than a year, less than a year since he sat in the chairs by the hospital doors. Thinking.

_Flashback  
Hospital Lobby_

Derek thought about his patient from a couple of days ago, the gunshot victim. The case had come in as self-inflicted, but he and Karev had overheard a fight between the couple that made them suspicious. The patient had cheated on his wife years before, and she had never let him forget it. But what had made a difference to Derek was the man's pain as he talked about the past. How his wife would never forgive his infidelity, and nothing she said could ever make him feel as bad as he already did. That patient's story, it was Addison's story. She was sorry. She'd said that almost immediately as she begged him not to leave their home, before Mark had even left their bedroom. And she had been saying it since she arrived in Seattle, that she was sorry, that they would make it through. She'd given him permission to bring it up as a weapon, dirty tactics, whenever they fought. He smiled to himself. He wouldn't do that. Not really. Not if he tried to make it work. He'd been calling her Satan since she got to Seattle, though, which was ironic since he'd called her that back in the city as well. Of course, then it was a term of affection, when she'd scared the bejeezus out of an intern, intimidated a sales clerk into marking something down or convinced their chief of surgery that something had to be done exactly the way she wanted—even if it wasn't exactly hospital protocol.

And he was frustrated with Meredith. She was pushing him into signing, she didn't understand—but how could she? How could she know what it was like to make an oath, to swear in front of your friends and family, a priest and God that this was the one person you would cleave to. He had told her he couldn't possibly have been expected to flourish the pen and end eleven years of commitment, that he deserved, needed to take some time to respect that marriage. That's what she expected of him, just to end it, but her parents were divorced, she didn't get the marriage thing. That he couldn't just walk away from it as if it didn't matter, just close the door on that era of his life—what had he said? Eleven Thanksgivings, eleven Christmases? _But I did. I did just that when I closed the door to the brownstone and boarded a plane for Seattle._ And so when he had told Meredith that, what had he been talking about?

God, when she had given him that speech, the one about cheesecake and loving him so much she hated him and throwing in the bit from Say Anything—how cute and wonderful she was when she did that. He had almost taken her in his arms right then, and wished he had, because he would be done with this thinking now, done deciding. he would have decided and she would be his. And the papers would be signed. He'd be over at Joe's now or even at her house, and they would be healing. And he could explain why he hadn't told her before _(and why was that? asked part of him, why hadn't he been honest with the woman who saved him?)_ He didn't know, not then, but if he had signed the papers, they would have talked and she would have helped him understand.

_I left my baby and it feels so bad,  
Guess my race is run._

He looked up to see Meredith's resident walking up to him. _In a dress?_ They exchanged a few polite sentences and then she said it.

"Come on. You know what to do already. If you didn't, you wouldn't be in so much pain." _Dammit_. She was right. He knew. He had to give Addison a chance, had to see if she was the part of his lost soul that was returning to him. Had to finish this part before he could go on. He smiled, and every muscle of that smile screamed out to him it was a lie. He smiled and nodded, and watched Miranda leave for her anniversary dinner.

And he decided. And it nearly killed him.

And then his wife walked up.

_Shes the best girl that I ever had  
I fought the law and the law won_

"I have been looking everywhere for you." She stood, hip cocked at an angle, staring at him in a way that challenged him. Dared him.

"Well. You found me." And he stood up and walked to where he could face her, stare her in the eye.

"So? Are you going to sign those divorce papers or not?"

And he could feel his heart breaking, shattering, smashed under those fucking expensive shoes as he looked at her. "Addie. I'm not signing. Not right now."

"So when, Derek? When do you think you could be bothered to end your marriage? Will you pencil me in for tomorrow afternoon?" And her voice was frustrated, tense, echoing his own heartache.

"I'm not signing the papers, Addie. We can try to make a go of this. I can't promise it will work, and I'm not going back to New York." He hated each word that came out of his mouth, each sound that he formed. Because he wanted, God, he _needed _Meredith. _How can I just abandon her? She saved my life. _

Addison looked at him, searched his face for what he wasn't saying. She slowly nodded her head. "We can make a go of it here. I'll talk to Richard, see if he has a place for me."

_Meredith. I have to talk to Meredith. _But he didn't want to hurry, didn't want to speak those words again, because when he spoke them, they would be real. He would not only damage Meredith, but he would be killing himself.

_Again_.  
_  
I fought the law and the law won,  
I fought the law and the law won._

_End Flashback_

Derek rubbed his face from chin to forehead with his hands, trying to wipe away the memories of that night. Those long months, when they tried for too long. _Was it time when I found out the girl with the bomb was Meredith?_ He had become enmeshed with his marriage to Addison and completely forgotten that he had committed to try, not committed never to say it wasn't working. _Was it enough when I sat in the booth at Joe's with Addison and her supply of Christmas catalogues and broke her heart telling her I loved Meredith? _So when it had become evident that there was no use trying, he should have known. _It was certainly past time when I was able to clip Mrs. Booker's aneurysm. _Quitting would have been the right thing, saved everyone some trauma.

"I needed to try. But we should have stopped trying before we did, we were making each other miserable." And for a moment he had a keen sense of déjà vu, as he remembered Addison practically chasing him down the hall the night Burke was shot, chasing him down and he couldn't get away. . . _Not now, Addison. Not now. _

He froze.

"What just fell into place?" And for being such an arrogant ass earlier, Jack was certainly being polite. Of course he was, _now_.

"I need to figure something out. I need to think about this, figure it out."

"All right then. Figure it out, and I'll see you next time.

_I fought the law, and the law won;  
I fought the law and the law won._

_

* * *

_**A/N**: I'm actually going someplace with the song choice here. Derek trapped himself in the law, his own strict moral code. Let's face it, no one lives up to it. Not Meredith, not Addison, not Mark and certainly not Derek. So. Any good Christian theologian will talk your ear off about the law. And the balance to law. 

Meredith is coming up next.

Please review. I would really like to get Meredith & two more up before tomorrow night before Shonda & co yank the carpet out from under my feet.


	14. Grace

**Grace**

_There's the moon asking to stay  
Long enough for the clouds to fly me away   
Though it's my time coming, I'm not afraid, afraid to die  
My fading voice sings of love,  
But she cries to the clicking of time,  
Of time_

Wait in the fire...

Meredith watched as Derek slammed the door to Dr. Burson's office. She slowly walked down the hall, her hand trailing along the wall. She shook her head at Margaret when she tried to talk. Alex came out of Susan's office and ran down the hall, barely nodding her way. Susan poked her head out the door.

"Mer? Come on in. I'm a little disoriented. Back to backs do that do me, climbing out of one person's life and into another's."

Meredith came in, still stunned by the rejection. _Which rejection?_ She laughed to herself. _So many over the past day, who could count?_

When both women were seated, Meredith reached over to the box of tissues. She didn't want to cry, would probably only cry if she got angry. But her nose might run, and that would require tissues. She sat with one foot tucked underneath her, and her other foot stretched out on the couch. She held onto a pillow as if it were the giraffe Thatcher had given her for a birthday she could no longer remember. Time to begin.

"My Fake Mommy died." The fringe on the pillow was long enough for her to separate out three strands and begin to braid. "She came to the clinic yesterday with hiccups. And. . .she wasn't my case at first, but I did scrub in on her surgery. But she had a bacterium that took over her organs. And she died."

"And how was that for you?" Susan's voice was encouraging. But before Meredith could answer, there was a tap at the door. Jack poked his head in.

"Susan, can I go ahead and do this before you get started?" His wife nodded, and Jack came in and sat down.

"Meredith, you know that Susan and I are treating the attendings as well as you interns as a team. We're consulting with each other." Meredith nodded, wondering where Jack was going with this. "And I'm assuming you know who is in my office next door?" She nodded again.

"I've already reviewed Susan's notes, and I believe that if I'm able to talk about the events of the past year with Derek, from the position of knowing what happened, I can encourage him to talk about how he is doing. I don't mean to manipulate you over this. But he can't seem to get to the point of talking about himself. And that's why he's here."

Meredith cleared her throat. "Um. . .Derek isn't acting, that is, like himself. He's not being. . .I think he's hurting. You can read him my chart if it helps. It's not like he wasn't here for the whole year. I don't think there are any surprises."

Jack nodded. "I'm going with that, then. Could you sign a release for that when you leave?" 

"Sure." And Meredith's mouth twitched. _Something was so wrong with Derek that even Dr. Burson had noticed._

"Thanks." He smiled at his wife, touched her shoulder, and left.

"All day long, I'd been having hope. Derek and I had talked in the morning, and it seemed like we were doing more than just giving the news. He was going to come over with dinner. I had been hanging out with Thatcher—my dad—getting to know him. I was hopeful. But then she died.

"For some reason I thought I should tell him, told the chief and Bailey I wanted to. Because I owed him. If I owed him, if there were ever anything I ever owed him, it's done. I'm done. Tab cleared." Meredith looked upward to the ceiling. _Runny nose. Damn allergies._

"He blamed me, of course. He was so completely shaken and he. . ." Meredith's cheeks and lips were no longer under her control. Fighting to force her mouth to shape the sounds, she chuffed out the words. "He slapped me across the face, in the surgery waiting room. And I was so. . ." What is wrong with my face? Her lips twitched, almost as if she were fighting laughter instead of hysteria. "I've been the subject of so much looking and talking and judging around here. And I'm. . ."

She closed her eyes, breathing through her nose for control. And lost. She began to keen in loud breaths, coming deep from within her, forcing them out through her gritted teeth.

Susan asked quietly, "Meredith, can you tell me?"

"I'M A PRIVATE PERSON TOO!" she screamed. "Why does everything that happens to me happen in public? I mean, seriously, I can't have anything that is just mine, that I can choose to share. . .I am used to being alone, I need to be alone, but I don't want to be lonely either. I just don't want every little bit of my life to be played out as a drama for the people at this hospital!" She swallowed and then swallowed again, wondering if drowning in your own spit was even possible.

_And she weeps on my arm  
Walking to the bright lights in sorrow  
Oh drink a bit of wine we both might go tomorrow,oh my love  
And the rain is falling and I believe  
My time has come  
It reminds me of the pain I might leave  
Leave behind_

Wait in the fire...

"So I went home after my shift, and Alex and Izzie and I had some drinks, and I kept waiting. And he never showed up. Just never came around. And now he's on the other side of a canyon and I can't talk to him." _Not. Now._ The words pinballed through her head, racking up points as they rolled from one side to the other. "He walks so fast through the halls and he takes bigger steps because he's taller, and I have to run just to not be left behind, and so I run to keep up with him and I am tired of running. And I am so far behind and I just want to catch up."

_And she weeps on my arm  
Walking to the bright lights in sorrow  
Oh drink a bit of wine we both might go tomorrow, oh my love  
And the rain is falling and I believe  
My time has come  
It reminds me of the pain I might leave  
Leave behind_

Wait in the fire... 

Her hands were fists now, the pillow _(giraffe) _forgotten on the floor, and she was drumming them at the tops of her own legs, drumming in frustration with her _(tiny ineffectual)_ fists.

"It's like I have some kind of thing living inside me, my own special bacteria, that poisons anything that happens to me. I can't have anything good happen to me, because anything that happens turns to shit and toxic megacolon. I have my very own _C. Diff_. But no one blames SUSAN when her own fucking bacteria kills her, but here I am, I am drowning in the crap that keeps happening, and I am doing my very absolute best to breathe on my own GOD DAMN IT! All I can do, all I want to do is forget the pain. Forget the problems. Forget the hidden wife and the choosing her and the telling me I get around and I want to figure out how to live because I don't know how, I've never done this before."

In the middle of this Meredith could hear all of the word vomit and only marvel, because it was her voice and her words and her pain and she was telling someone which she never did, she never opened up and _shared _for godssake. Sure, it was a paid someone, someone that had a chart on her with notes about just how crazy she was and probably a diagnosis or seven from the wrong side of the DSM4, but seriously, she was talking, hemmoraging words about feelings that didn't make sense but that was the deal with feelings, you couldn't go after them with a scalpel, you had to get some kind of emetic to vomit them out with words. It felt so good in an embarrassing sort of way, just like vomiting a bit too much tequila feels so good when it's finally out and gone and you get to brush your teeth (and then want to throw the toothbrush away) because once something is out there, like when she finally finally got to talk to George about the sex they shouldn't have had, even though they were in time out when it happened, it got better. And now maybe she could get better, maybe she was vomiting enough to get the parasite or whatever was causing her emotional multi-system organ failure out get it diagnosed and get it gone and maybe she could be ok.

And then the torrent of words tapered off. She was whispering now.

"Maybe I do, maybe something about who I am and the life I've led up to now is poisoning everything new I touch, maybe it is me, maybe I'm the problem, but I can change it, it can change. Because even if the poison is from inside me right now, that's not a life-sentence. Because if I know, if I can figure out why, things can change. If we'd known about the _C. Diff_, we'd have taken steps ahead of time. And I have warning, I don't have to be this poisoned person forever."

And as Meredith gradually relaxed, releasing the tension in her fingers and hands and arms and face, she realized that she actually felt better. _No, not so much better, but maybe. . .able to consider feeling better a possibility. Huh. Who knew? _She opened her eyes and looked blearily over at Susan.

"This sucks, did you know that?"

Susan laughed. "Yeah, I knew that. It's part of the graduate course—how to get your patients to hate you."

"You aced it, didn't you."

"Get out of here, and make another appointment. Go get something to eat." And, scrubbing her face with her hands (stupid allergies even made her eyes water) Meredith stretched off of the couch, smiled at Susan, and went.

_And I feel them drown my name  
So easy to know and forget with this kiss  
But I'm not afraid to go but it goes so slow_

Wait in the fire...

**A/N**: The lyrics here are by Jeff Buckley. Not a Carson in his name anywhere. So I don't own them any more than I own Grey's and wrote tonight's finale. Hint: I didn't. Because you can see, I don't blame Meredith more than 50 for the problems between her and Derek. Some of it's timing. Some of it's the idiocy of having a plot driven show instead of a relationship/character driven show (that's where the writer's room and I differ, at least since Ferryboat Arc.) But some of it is that he wants to blame all of their problems on her. And look around, McNarcissus. I see some failed relationships in your past. At least half of this pie is yours to eat. And I hope he has an appetite in season 4. Eat up, Derek.

Because Derek is nothing without Meredith. Meredith is Grace for Derek's Law. Meredith hopes. Meredith gives others hope. Yeah, she whines, yeah, it seems as if the writer's room has a plot wheel they spin for ideas on how to screw with her. But she has hope, and Alex nailed it when he told Addison that Mer makes you believe that the screwed up people have a chance.

Because when you get right down to it, there isn't anyone over the age of 30 who doesn't have some dark & twisty, scary & damaged corners of their soul. And God blesses the ones who don't lose hope. That's grace.

And? That split infinitive bothers me, it really does. I know it's there, no need to point it out. But Meredith called me anal retentive when I told her it was a split infinitive, so I left it. That should be the least of her worries tonight; she's got enough to deal with between Cristina, Izzie, Callie and McNarcissus.

PS: The next bit still takes place before Testing, 1, 2, 3. And I could have rushed it, it could have been up by now. But it would have sucked. And I decided late and good, at least to me, was better than on-time and sucky. But having seen the S3 finale, my muse is now upon me. (Hey, maybe it's Shonda's muse. Not that my writing is as good as Shonda's, when Shonda is on. But she seems to have shown up right when Shonda's did a flit.)


	15. Family

**A/N:** This is set prior to Testing 1, 2, 3.

**Family **

_Can you fix this? It's a broken heart.  
It was fine, but it just fell apart.  
_

By the time Meredith was off duty, she was spent. Depleted. Done. Overdone. So done, that Bailey's heart had grown three sizes, somehow compelling her to switch Meredith's late night with Cristina's. _I must look really bad._ Cristina cackled at the news, boasting to Meredith about the massive injuries that would soon be hitting the pit, needing to be cut open and fixed. Meredith couldn't even respond._ I must feel really bad. _By the time she was sitting in her car, keys in the ignition, waiting for the energy to turn them, it was only 9:40. And it was only 9:53 by the time she peeled her face off of the steering wheel, leaned back, started the car, put it in gear, drove out of the parking lot, and headed home.

When she pulled up to the house, she saw the living room lights low, and the blue flicker of the television. There was a beat up Nissan in the driveway, adorned with the rooftop sign for their pizza joint. She waited for the driver to move, and parked. And then she went inside.

_It was mine, but now I give it to you,  
'Cause you can fix it, you know what to do._

Inside, Alex and George were watching a surgery tape. Each had pulled out a slice of pizza and were digging in. Meredith put her keys in the bowl on the table, and joined them, brushing and almost knocking over by the reproduction Tiffany lamp that was just inside the living room door. She sat down on the couch between her two friends, grabbed a slice of her own, and parked her feet on the table. Her eyes sagged shut as she finally felt the impact of the last 48 hours she had endured. She took another bite, and leaned up against Alex's shoulder. He shifted forward, grabbed another slice for himself then leaned against her once more.

_When your life sucks, you get drunk and sleep with inappropriate men. It's your thing. I find it charming. _

Meredith could feel his chest rise and fall and hear the rhythms of his heart. George stood up.

"Mer, want something? I'm getting a beer."

"Yeah, something. Whatever you're having." Meredith spoke without opening her eyes.

"Alex?"

"I'm good."

A few moments later, she felt the couch cushion sink as George sat back down. A cold bottle was pressed to her cheek. She took it, took a sip, and held it back to her cheek.

"Where's Izzie?" Meredith wondered.

"Upstairs." Both men answered, but then Meredith heard her footsteps coming downstairs. Izzie's pace had slowed the past week. As it had after Denny. When she first moved in, Meredith could remember wondering if her friend touched one stair out of seven on the way down. Now each and every step sounded painful.

Izzie came in, and sat on the floor. She took a sip of Meredith's drink, and a bite of her pizza. The four of them sat, content just to be. Being here was comforting, not awkward or obligating. The room filled with the sounds of their breathing, their hearts beating.

When the on-screen surgery finished, the tape stopped. Alex lifted the remote and flicked the television off, and walked over to the CD player, picked a disc and put the music on.

_Let your love cover me,  
Like a pair of angel wings,  
You are my family,  
You are my family._

When the front door opened, they looked over as one to see who was coming in. No one was surprised to see their missing partner. Cristina went to the kitchen and came back with two beers in one hand, and two waters in the other. Alex grabbed a beer. Meredith reached one hand up to her friend and took a water. George took the other. Not even Meredith wanted to drink to drunkenness this evening.

Izzie looked at Cristina, a question in her eyes.

"Slow night. Bailey wanted me to go take care of bridal business. So here I am."

_It's like candy. But with blood. Which is so much better!_

Meredith reached over and patted Cristina on the head. Cristina grabbed her hand and threw it back toward Meredith.

"Have you forgotten who I am?"

Izzie got up and went to the kitchen, without saying a word. She came back in with a plate full of cookies.

"No muffins this time. Just cookies."

_Don't hate my cake. My cake is good._

And Meredith decided that while pizza, cookies, beer and water didn't really sound like a good time. . .it was. George let out a groan and rolled off of the couch onto the floor. He picked up his phone and walked out of the room.

"Who's he calling?" Cristina wasn't quite disinterested.

"Hasn't been able to talk to Callie, let her know he's here." Alex sounded purposely neutral.

"Oh."

_I know what you need. . .Nancy Reagan was wrong. You can't just say no._

George came back in, closing his phone, tossing it back on the table.

_We stood outside in the summer rain,  
Different people with a common pain.  
A simple box in the hard red clay,  
Where we left him to always remain._

He lay down on the floor, arms folded behind his head. Alex opened his mouth, decided against it, and then exhaled loudly, making raspberry noises. Meredith shook her head and shared an eyeroll with Cristina.

_McDreamy is doing the McNasty with McHottie? That McBastard!_

"Are you okay, George?" Meredith got no answer. She put her face forward until it was between her knees and concentrated on breathing. In. Out. Oxygen traded for carbon dioxide. Swallowing down the nausea that kept coming.

_Let your love cover me,  
Like a pair of angel wings,  
You are my family,  
You are my family._

"Georgie's fine, but he may have bitten off more than he can chew," said Alex. Cristina reached up and flicked her index finger, thumping him soundly between his eyebrows. "Hey, don't blame me, it's the truth!"

_You say that word so much it's like it's not even a word any more._

"Shut up, Evil Spawn." Cristina stood up and stretched, then settled back down to the floor. The music stopped, then the next song began.

"So!" The silence shattered and collapsed when Izzie spoke. "Who is doing well with the Bursons?"

Four pairs of eyes glared at her. "What? I thought since we were all here, we could talk and. . .never mind."

_Maybe it's professional jealousy. Maybe she's brilliant and they call her a Nazi because they're jealous. Maybe she's nice.  
_

_Let me guess, you must be the model._

Meredith patted Izzie's hand. "It's going. I actually felt different today. I can't say I felt good, but it was different."

"Yeah. That's how I've felt, too. Different." Izzie spoke quietly now, contemplatively.

Alex rolled off of the couch onto the floor and grabbed three cookies. "But it does suck." He caught the pieces that were falling before they hit the ground.

"Nobody ever said it wouldn't suck."

The quiet settled again. The cd reached its end. And one by one, the interns crept to a bedroom or couch to sleep for the night.

_And the child who played with the moon and stars  
Waves a snatch of hay in a common barn,  
In the lonely house of Adam's fall  
Lies a child, it's just a child that's all, crying— _

_Let your love cover me,  
Like a pair of angel wings,  
You are my family,  
You are my family._

**A/N:** This chapter. . .I'm not so happy. I wanted to show how the interns were, more than any of their biological families, family to each other. Because I have been living in this chapter more than any other, I took Derek's comments last night about Meredith & her friends possibly too personally. We'll see. He was wrong, though.

For what it's worth, the song is (of course) by Dar Williams. If you get a chance to listen, you will love it. If I captured one eighth of the poignancy of this song here, I done good.


	16. PostMortem Announcements

**A/N:** I decided to write this fic within canon, from the last few episodes of season 3, through the finale, and then continuing through the summer. I am very stubborn. That is what is going to happen, even though Shonda did everything she could to make her characters behave like entirely different people, not the same people I've watched for over 2 years. And I'm not sure how I'm going to do that with some of them. But I will, and I promise that even though I've toyed with the idea of aliens and memory washing or chips implanted in brains, or brain bleeds in the decision making portions of the brain, and having that be a communicable disease. . .I won't go there. At the same time, there will be no puppies or kittens frolicking about. No rainbows and sunshine. No Mer running to meet Der across the field in front of the trailer while butterflies swarm, and they meet and hug, then Derek lifts Meredith up in the air and twirls her around, then they go inside the trailer for hot porny lovemaking, while "Love is a Many Splendoured Thing" plays in the background. Not this fic. At this point, I am not willing to promise a Mer/Der ending. But I will deliver (or I want to deliver, anyway, and you can call me on it if I don't) a fic with characters who behave in character, who do the things your characters do. And they will deal with the aftermath of Shonda's arson. (Which is illegal, BTW)

In any case, this is what I have today. The aftermath of the finale, the show that is what I like to call "the parody of Grey's that was televised 5/17/07."

**Post Mortem-Announcements**

In the church, Meredith stopped talking, but her words still echoed.

_It's over, you can all go home. It's over, so over._

She walked back up the aisle to see what Cristina needed, but Cristina was already gone. For her, the fairy tale was over.

_Derek._ She had no idea where the speech from the locker room came from; she had been preparing for an entirely different speech. One that had words like _mistake_ and _it's me, not you_, and ended with the word _friends_. She went back into the chapel, but Derek was gone. _Crap_. She didn't know how to respond to what he said, she didn't know what he meant by half of it.

_But you're constantly leaving me. You walk away when you want…you come back when you want. Not everyone…not your friends…but you leave me._

But he was the one who had left. . .wasn't he? He had left her for Addison, he left her again telling her Finn was the better guy, and he had left her a week ago. When she chased him down, tried to make him feel better, he had shut her down.

_I can't breathe for you._

She had left then, sure, but wasn't that what she wanted her to do? He had every chance to stop her.

And then everything had gone to hell in a whatsit. And he hadn't come over, even though he was supposed to come over.

_Put me out of my misery._

Something was wrong. Something didn't make sense. Because she certainly wasn't trying to leave him. She loved him. She wasn't leaving. Was she?

But before she could think about Derek, she had to find Cristina.

_When she was 9, she was in a car accident with her father. And he bled out right in front of her while they were waiting for an ambulance to arrive._

Who had said that? Who had told her that? The voice in her memory. . .it sounded like. . .someone's. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and drove to Cristina's house. Cristina didn't need to be alone, and even worse, she didn't need to be alone with her mother.

* * *

Meredith rocked Cristina from side to side, and they sank to the couch almost spooning each other as Cristina's sobs tapered to an end. 

"He's gone. I'm free." Every time Cristina whispered the words, Meredith could hear a little more peace inher voice. And she rocked her friend, making murmuring humming noises of comfort, just so Cristina would know she was there. They sat together, and Cristina was quiet for so long, Meredith thought she must have gone to sleep.

"You cut my dress off of me. I'll never be able to sell it on eBay now." _Nope, not asleep._

"I cut your dress off of you because I thought you were about to go into hysterics."

"Meredith, I may have been primped, painted and polished into this, this, Stepford Cristina. But I am Cristina Yang. I am hardcore. I don't do hysterics."

Meredith giggled, not wanting to point out that in fact, Cristina Yang apparently did do hysterics. "Okay. Sorry. I didn't mean to insult you."

Cristina sighed. "What a long day. I'm not used to being this exhausted without surgery. Or sex. Or both."

Meredith gave another murmur and squeeze.

"Okay, that's enough. I have to get this thing off of me." Cristina stood up and fiddled with the back of her corset. "Now I feel less like chattel. Or former chattel. Used chattel." She stomped back to her bedroom and came back wearing a longish sleep shirt.

"So. You were telling me. Derek got all flirty with some girl?"

Meredith's heart stopped. _Crap. Derek. _She needed to do something about Derek. She wasn't sure what a normal, sane female would do if the person she loved told her the things he had. . .but she was pretty sure that running away and ignoring him was not the right answer.

"Yeah. But then right before we left for the chapel, he said. . .Cristina, he told me I was pushing him away. That I was making him miserable, pushing him away. And that I needed to tell him if I was in or not. I thought I was in, but I'm kinda sorta freaking out. But he said I was it for him. That I was the love of his life. And we were late."

"That's good, right? He's all McDreamy and gooey, and that's what you wanted. What do you mean you were late?"

"I told him we needed to get to the chapel, because we were late. And I ran."

"I'm thinking that may have been an example of the pushing away, no?"

Meredith scowled at Cristina. "It's just that I don't know where it's coming from. I thought he was breaking up with me. And now he's wanting. . .something."

Cristina rolled her eyes. "He always wants something, and he's been getting it."

Meredith shook her head. "He's not been getting sex. We haven't seen much of each other the past few days. But that's not what he meant."

"What did he mean?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, wouldn't that be a good question to ask?"

_Yes,_ Meredith thought. _Yes it would._ She reached for her cell phone.

* * *

After Meredith had finished speaking and gone back up the aisle, there were a few moments of shock. Everyone had expected Burke to come through those doors, the music to start over and for the wedding to take place, albeit slightly later than planned. The whispers started. What had happened behind those doors? Neither Preston nor Cristina came back into the chapel, and finally people stood. Mark caught Derek's eye and gave him a questioning look. Derek shrugged, stepped down from where he had been standing as Best Man and walked over to him. 

"Where's Burke?" asked Mark. "He's probably in a world of hurt right now. But better now than. . ."

"In ten years?" interrupted Derek., raising an eyebrow and half a smile.

"Well. . .yeah." Mark had the decency to look embarrassed, although he refused to apologize again for what Derek refused to forgive. But maybe they were a step closer to forgetting, if they could joke. It was the second joke Derek had made about adultery that day. Or rather, the second time Derek had made that same joke.

"Should we go look for him?" Mark was actually worried about their friend. "He was so sure. . ." Derek nodded.

"You go look for him up where the bride, uh, was. I'll see if he circled around back here." And Derek went out the side door of the chapel. A few minutes later, he met Mark again outside.

"Gone. Derek, you've known him longer. Where would he go?" Derek thought. Joes was the only place he'd gone with Preston for drinks, but he'd heard him talk about a blues club on the other side of town. _Somewhere he wouldn't be found or pitied. That's it. _

When they opened the door of the uptown club, it took a while for their eyes to adjust to the dim lights. The mellow sounds of a drum brush, bass guitar, piano and muted trumpet filled the air. The quartet was set up at the back wall on the right, lit by lights with blue filters. The tables were scattered through the room, and were lit by small candles in blue glass. A few empty tables waited for customers, but most of the seats were taken by couples who were completely focused on the musicians. This was not a bar people went to for talking and visiting. They went to enjoy music, to listen and believe in the music. Derek and Mark didn't interrupt any of the patrons as they looked for Preston, but after a few minutes they knew. Burke wasn't there. Derek's cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out. _Meredith. Of course. Runs away, and when she's ready she comes back. I'm the yoyo._ He put the phone back in his pocket.

"Ok, I was wrong. Should we try Joe's?" This place was the only one Derek had heard Preston talking about, and he was out of other options. They got back in the car and drove to more familiar ground.

* * *

Meredith closed her phone. "He's not answering. He's done this before." 

Cristina picked her face out of her hands. One of her painted eyebrows had smudged, giving her face an off-kilter ominous cast. "So? Are you just going to take that? Let him not answer you?"

"Cristina, what if you and Burke were like a sign, some kind of omen or signal. And Burke finally figured out that he was making you different,. And what if that's a message for me, that Derek doesn't really me. He loves the Meredith he couldn't get,that he thinks I am. And soon, he's going to figure it out, and realize that I'm not the love of his life, I'm not it for him. And what if this is my last chance to get out before that happens?"

Cristina stared. "Seriously, Mer? Seriously?" She stood up.

"Seriously? You think I'm a sign? That Burke dumping me was a sign? I'll tell you what I'm a sign of! I'm a sign that you are about to get the ass kicking you need, so you can pull it together!"

"Cristina!"

"Shut up, Meredith, it is my turn to talk. You had your turn, at the church. Don't blame me if it didn't work. Where was I. . .oh yeah. What kind of surgeon looks for signs? Are you going to consult a psychic? Ooooh, I know, maybe we should look at tomorrow's newspaper, see what it says for Pisces." Cristina's sudden energy was impressive, given that she had seemed utterly defeated shortly before.

"Are you going to be like that crazy stalker chick, climbing a tree to get a look at his bedroom? Maybe we should go see a palm reader, buy a sheep and butcher it to look at the entrails!"

Meredith stunned at the level of rant Cristina was achieving, when suddenly, her friend kicked her in the leg.

"MOVE IT. Did you think you were going to sit here all lumpey and mopey? You know where McDreamy is, where he goes whenever he gets his McFeelings hurt. Get. In. Your. Stupid. Jeep. And. Drive. To. The. Trailer. And. Go. Have. Some. Mc. Sex." With each syllable, another kick was delivered. "It's my freaking wedding night, someone should be getting some!"

And moments later, Meredith was back in her Jeep, driving to the trailer. Cristina had practically pushed her out the door and down the stairs, yelling at Meredith the whole way.

* * *

Mark and Derek stood at the bar, drinks in hand. No Preston Burke. No Joe. In fact, not much of anyone. 

"Crazy day," Mark said, swallowing the last of his drink. "Hikers, babies, called off weddings."

"Called off loves," Derek added, wincing.

"You broke up with Meredith?" Mark couldn't believe that the man who had been broken to the ground a month ago when Meredith was. . .unconscious. . .would have broken it off. "What happened?"

Derek shook his head. "No. She broke it off with me. Before we went to the chapel I told her that she had to be in it, it couldn't just be me. And when she said it was over, I'm pretty sure she was talking about us as well." He signaled for another drink.

Mark shook his head. ""That can't be the end of it. You need to talk."

"Meredith? Meredith _Grey_. You ever met her?" Derek's tone was bitter. "About so tall, hair like a blonde halo, mouth like a sailor, never saw an important conversation that couldn't be put off interminably. It will never happen." When the bartender put that next drink in front of him, he waved it off and threw down some crumpled bills to cover the tab. "Listen, I've got a busy day tomorrow. You need a ride?"

Mark shook his head. "My ride's at the hospital, so I can just walk over there. Be careful buddy. And don't do anything rash."

As Derek left the bar, the girl from the night before was walking in. He smiled at her; she smiled back.

"Better day?" he asked.

"Yeah, but a hard one," she answered. "I think they're going to be hard for a while."

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, they are. Probably a long while." He nodded goodbye, and walked to his car. He paused before he opened the driver side door, and turned around. He looked back at the Emerald City Bar, a faint smile on his face, head tilted slightly to the side. _Just a girl in a bar.__

* * *

_

Meredith turned the Jeep engine off, and sat staring at the trailer. It was dark. Derek wasn't there. And he still wasn't answering her calls.

_I met a girl. I met a girl and it was the highlight of my week. Yeah, you should worry._

But she wasn't worried. Worried didn't include what was evidently a largish rodent, gnawing through the length of her small intestine. Worried didn't include the memory of his smile at her. . .when she was just a girl in a bar. Worried didn't erase the memory of the pain in his face when he had asked her to put him out of his misery. The words for what she was? _Freaking Right The Fuck Out. _

_But he wouldn't just tell me I'm the love of his life and do something like that. Even before I opened my bedroom door as the newest exciting merry-go-round in Seattle, I waited._

_God, I don't think I really believe in You, but if You are there, please tell me You've written some more to our story, something that looks more like a happy ending than this current pit of despair. Amen._

Prayer said, she opened the door and got out of her Jeep, jumping lightly to the ground. And remembered she was wearing the high fucking heels as well as her long fucking bridesmaid's dress when she landed, twisting her ankle and ending up on her ass on the muddy ground.

"Crap!"

She stood up, kicked of the stupid heels and tried to brush herself off, but only succeeded in grinding the mud into her outfit. _I have some scrubs or something in the car, at least a shirt and sweats. _She looked in the back of the Jeep, but realized that the accumulated debris that usually rolled around back there was gone. Not only were there no extra clothes, but nothing cloth that she could use to clean up. She remembered; she had cleaned out the back of the Jeep in case she needed to help move wedding crapola from point A to point B. She screamed in frustration, putting her face in her hands.

"Crap!"

_God, this is really not giving me much confidence in Your existence. Aren't You and the angels supposed to be in favor of True Love? _

When Cristina had tossed her out of the apartment and into the Jeep, she had felt something like the Girl in a Sappy Romance, the Girl running to get the Guy as the movie came to its four-hankie conclusion. Now, muddied, barefooted, tired and crying, she felt more like she was starring in the "I Love Lucy" show. And not one of the cute episodes that has Dezi showing up telling her she had some 'splainin to do. More like the parody that would show up on some cable show, where Lucy ends up a broken whore in Tijuana, turning tricks for sailors. Yeah, that was much more her life than "While You Were Sleeping." She trudged up to the trailer door and just before she went inside, she reconsidered. Maybe these were the signs she was looking for. Maybe she was too dirty, broken, damaged to be able to love. She sat down on the deck, and leaned back against the side of the trailer. The tears left her eyes and trickled down her cheeks, carving ivory furrows in the mud she had unthinkingly left when she had touched her face.

_When will this night be over?_

_**A/N:** Ugh. I don't like this place they are in. Derek at Joe's, looking back at the bar. Remember who is in the bar? And Meredith in the pit of despair at the trailer, doubting her ability to love. But this, at least, feels honest and true to the characters. I really thought about having them miss each other by Derek going to the Intern Inn, Meredith waiting at the trailer. But Derek wouldn't go, because he has already put it all out there for Meredith. It's her turn. And Meredith does want to talk to him, but is pretty clueless about what she should say._


	17. Morning After The Wedding That Wasn't

**A/N: **This is my second post-finale chapter. I uploaded the previous chapter the other day, right when the site started acting wonky. That's just FYI, in case you didn't realize it. You have to read the previous chapter or you don't know why Meredith is muddy.

**The Morning After The Wedding That Wasn't**

_The calendar says that the new year begins on January 1. Schoolchildren everywhere know that the new year begins at the end of summer, when they arm themselves with freshly sharpened #2 pencils, spiral notebooks and a new teacher for a brand new year. They can follow this pattern for the rest of their lives, become parents and let the fading sounds of summer be the signal for new resolutions, new beginnings and clean slates._

_Or they become doctors. And then the new year changes to July 1. For in teaching hospitals everywhere, that is the day when life starts new. A fifth year resident is chosen as chief. Last years interns move up the food chain, become residents. New year, new title. And finally, a new group of interns arrives on the scene. Nobodies. Grunts. So green, they can't find their way to the labs. And someone needs to break them in. _

_The night before, the new intern had sat at the bar. She'd taken a couple of shots, but knew she had to slow down. Too much had happened to her that week, and tomorrow she needed to be on top of her game. It wasn't just starting a new job. It was starting a new job in the hospital that killed your mother. It was starting a new job with a half-sister you'd never met, one that by all rights would already hate you. It was starting a new job that would be the toughest job in her life. Because as a surgical intern at Seattle Grace, she had so much to lose. She smiled at the man next to her, the one who had been flirting so well. The one who smiled at her with such a challenge. Too bad. Her father was expecting her home, and she couldn't just not show up. When she left the bar, she realized that even though they had exchanged kisses, they hadn't told each other their names._

_The night before, the new Chief Resident had made some decisions. The new interns needed to follow a different path than the previous group. Even though the previous group included her husband, she knew that all of them were lucky to have made it through. Too many bad decisions, too many. And this was the group she had to guide through the year, as their Chief. There were other residents as well, with their own problems, but these were the ones she was most worried about._

_The night before, her husband had considered his options. Was it pride keeping him from starting over? Was it an unwillingness to be known as The One Who Failed? Or was he right to be thinking that the path was now closed, and a different future, a better future was going to be his? His professional life was in a shambles. His personal life wasn't any tidier._

_The night before, a fifth-year resident sang her 6 month old son to sleep, reveling in the Go To Bed routine that her husband did most of the time. Tonight it was hers, and it was a gift. Tomorrow would bring challenge, but she had never backed down from a challenge at all. Tonight she would sing to her son._

_The night before, the Chief of Surgery realized that he didn't want the second chance at his job. He didn't want to have to make the choice between work and his wife. He could come in part-time, if someone wanted. He could consult. But he would work no more than 20 hours a week. He started this new life in a unique way—at least for him. Before he drafted a letter to the board explaining his decision, he discussed it with his wife. And she agreed.

* * *

_

Derek woke up early the next morning, and it took him more than a second to remember where he was. _Joe's. . .car. . .hospital._ His brain put the pieces together, and the answer was an on-call room at Seattle Grace. Before he went to shower and change, he needed to look at the board and check on the status of the patient from yesterday, whose friends had determined his life wasn't worth living any more. Who had put an axe through his head, because they decided it wasn't worth doing anything to save him.

Bullshit.

He'd seen enough patients who were living lives the rest of the world thought was pathetic to know bullshit when he heard it. Live was precious. Love was precious. Horribly injured people, people the rest of the world pitied for their problems, could be happy. They could give and receive joy. They could love. It was a matter of knowing how, figuring out how, but it could happen. Life was a choice. Being able to love was a choice.

Choosing not to live? Choosing not to love? Not a choice at all.

The hospital was quiet, as there was still quite a while even before pre-rounds. The night nursing shift quietly administering medication and comfort to patients who needed it, but this far from the emergency room, the hospital slept, as peaceful as it ever got. As he was staring at the board, he heard familiar footsteps pause at his back.

"Good morning, Addison."

"Derek, you're here early. Good morning. I have a favor to ask."

Derek turned around and smiled at Addison, waiting for her to explain. _Don't ever know with her. It could be change for the snack machine or my left nut._

"It's bizarre circumstances, but I need the updated copy of my c.v. Richard doesn't have it; I don't think he ever had it to be honest. And I don't have time to run back to Manhattan to get it off of our desktop computer. I'm pretty sure that the only copy of it on this coast is in the back of the closet at the trailer."

Derek nodded. "Sure, come by tonight, and we'll find it."

"Yeah, that's the problem. I need it this morning. And congratulations on the chief thing."

"I didn't get chief."

"Oh." There were a few moments of silence. "Huh. Odd. I wonder. . ." she paused, and then reverted back to her favor. "Anyway, it's an ill wind that blows no good, so I really do need it today. I didn't want just to go in there without asking, it's your home. Plus, you might have started locking the door or something."

Derek shook his head. "Lock the door on that trailer? When all it would take is a can opener to break in? Go ahead, Addie. I hope you find it, but I don't remember seeing it."

"Thanks, Derek. I'll see you later." And Addison walked briskly down the hall.

* * *

Meredith was asleep. _Whatever is making that noise better shut up. I am asleep._ She heard the car door slam. Barely opening her eyes, she registered the trailer deck. And her bridesmaid's dress. And her dirty feet. She felt like crap. The early dawn was grey and damp around her, and she knew that she had spent the night in probably the least comfortable place she could have found. Bringing her hands to her face, she scrubbed the last sleepiness out of her eyes, and summoned the strength to open them fully, to see who had woken her up.

She would never mistake the hair for anyone elses, never. If they didn't see each other for twenty years and passed in an airport, she would know by the hair. Suddenly she was hyperconscious of yesterday's clothes, yesterday's hair. . .yesterday's shower. She was a wreck. She scrabbled at the deck to stand up, and when standing, looked up into blue eyes and a gentle smile.

* * *

_Sucker_, he thought as he drove out to the trailer. _Didn't you have better things to do this morning?_ But as he drove off of the ferry, he knew he didn't. Even though there was little, if anything, to tie him to Addison at this point, his own life had become so empty overnight that, barring emergency surgery, there was nothing else to do. She had gotten an emergency page from L uterine rupture during attempted VBAC, and as an extra bonus complication, the baby had a true knot in her cord. _Good luck with that, Addie._ So instead of his ex-wife heading to the trailer and back before rounds, getting her life story from the back of the closet, it was Derek Shepherd.

He'd always enjoyed the commute. He love seeing the change from urban to woods, the change echoed what he'd undergone a year ago when he moved from the urban mecca that is Manhattan to the woods of Seattle. He had changed his whole life; and Derek knew that he, himself, had changed. He was less able to tolerate skimming over the tops of life. He wanted wholeness, he wanted peace. And right now there was only turmoil, restlessness. And incompleteness.

He drove onto his land and parked next to Meredith's blue Jeep. _What is she doing here? Didn't she say everything she needed to say yesterday? _He got out and closed the car door, and slowly walked up the steps to the deck. And saw Meredith sleeping, muddied and barefoot, still dressed in the dress from yesterday. He smiled when he noticed the smudge of dirt across her cheek, hair tousled and matted. His hand twiched, wanting to rub her cheek clean, stroke her hair. His heart broke for her and her fragility, her delicate vulnerability. She slowly opened her eyes and stared at him. And then, glancing down at her feet and dress, she gracefully stood, and looked back at him.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Hi."

"I was waiting." She paused and then continued, "I mean, I thought we should talk. I didn't say anything. But I was Maid of Honor, so I had to make sure Cristina. . ."

"Cristina. Of course." And though he tried to hide it, he was sure that the sharp flicker of resentment stabbed through his words.

"Burke left her. He took what was most important to him from their apartment, and he left."

"Meredith, what did she expect? She left him at the altar. A man like Burke. . ." he shook his head. "You can't expect him just to go back to where they were before the wedding."

"She. . .no, Derek. She didn't leave him. He left her. She was heading down the aisle, we had a last minute crisis, she had scrubbed off her vows. But she was there. And then he told her. . ." Meredith didn't know if she should tell Derek the reason why Burke left, didn't want him to begin thinking about that, because then he might start thinking about Meredith like that, like she was not the woman he wanted her to be. Not the woman he loved. She could never let him find out that she was not that woman. That she could never be that woman, could never be whole. "Well, nevermind what he told her. But he's the one that left."

"He left."

"Listen, I've got to get. . .ugh, I've got to get out of this dress, for one thing. I need a shower, I need real shoes instead of these fake things. I have rounds to get to." She took a step to go to the Jeep, but Derek's hand jumped out, almost of its own volition. Grabbed her arm.

"Meredith." And this time he heard himself, the pain and anger in his voice, the frustration at once again, being pushed away. She looked down, saw—really saw—the shape of his surgeon's fingers placed around her wrist.

"Meredith, you came out here for a reason. Tell me." His voice was low and urgent.

"It's just," and her voice faltered then, faltered and cracked as she fought the inclination to wrap her arms around him, arms and then legs and kiss the pain in his eyes away. "I didn't know. Derek, if you are miserable, I didn't know. I didn't see. I didn't know you were miserable, and I didn't know you thought I was pushing you away and I didn't know anything and what that means. . ." She pulled her arm back and used her hand to wipe her nose. She looked around the clearing, and then back at him.

"I don't think that I'm a good bet, Derek. I'm too damaged to be a safe bet." She looked up at him. He looked back at her, questioning. "You shouldn't bet on me, is what I'm saying."

"So you're putting me out of my misery."

"I can't, I can't do that either, Derek. Not now. Not without. . .some time. Without a week of someone dying, someone rejecting me, someone telling me I ruined their life. The world's been a strange place recently, and the only thing I know is that. . .but I don't want to make you miserable. Because then I'm miserable too."

"Meredith, I don't understand."

"Let me go home. Let me shower, let me work my shift today. And maybe I can figure something out, maybe we can figure out how not to be miserable. And if that means letting each other go, for you not to be miserable, that's what I'll do. I won't keep you and make you miserable. I care too much for that."

And Meredith ran to the Jeep. She drove away before Derek had made a move from where he stood, frozen, on the steps of the trailer.

* * *

Cristina was going to work. Yes, she had the day off. Yes, she would be stared at, she'd be subject of the gossip, she'd be the butt of the jokes. In all but name, she'd be Meredith. But she'd be a different kind of Meredith. Sad and mopey didn't work for her, she'd be snarky and superior. And while people might pity her, of all things, they wouldn't want to talk about it. Because she was Cristina, and she would rip them apart if they did.

George had made a decision, sometime during the night as he slept. And he needed to talk to his wife about it, and it needed to happen before either of them got to the hospital. Unfortunately, his wife didn't expect him to start work at Mercy West until the next day, and so she let him sleep. He woke when the door to their hotel room closed, and by the time he put on pants and got to the hallway, the elevator had come and gone. He finished gettting dressed and went to the hospital to track Callie down there.

Callie was meeting with this year's new residents at the nurses station. "I've posted the surgical assignments for the next two weeks. If you have decided on a surgical sub-specialty, I've taken that into consideration. Most of you will continue working with the attending team you became familiar with last year. If there are any problems with your assignments, please keep them to yourselves."

Meredith and Cristina rolled their eyes at each other.

"Almost makes me wish I had gone ahead and taken the day today," whispered Cristina. "But only almost."

"I'm already over Callie O'Malley being the boss of me," Izzie griped.

"Grey!" Callie's voice cut over Meredith's response. She looked at her friends, who both shrugged back at her, and then turned to the new Chief Resident.

"Callie! Um. Dr. O'Malley. I didn't get to say congratulations!" Meredith put on a pleasant smile.

"Thanks, between the trying for a baby thing, George starting at Mercy West today and becoming Chief Resident, I'm having a pretty good day. But I need to tell you about one of the interns. Apparently, your father's other daughter is in the program here at Grace. Lexie? Is that her name?"

Meredith could only nod.

"Close your mouth, Grey. She's one of Bailey's interns, so she will be in the same group as you & your favorite attendings. And me. But the chief and Bailey both asked me to give you a heads up."

"Thanks, Callie."

"Like I said, don't thank me, thank. . .George? What are you doing here?"

The group turned to watch George coming down the hall.

"Hey, Callie, can I talk to you a minute?" He nodded at everyone else in the group, but seemed focused on his wife.

"George, this is my first day at a pretty intense job, what do you need?"

"I need to talk to you."

"George, come back later." Callie's dismissal of her husband was curt; she didn't know what he was doing here, but he was disrupting her mojo. George ran after her, down the hall to the elevators. The rest of the former interns looked at each other, then ran to where the assignments were posted to see how they would spend their next two weeks.


	18. Some things revealed others stay hidden

"I have five rules," the resident nearly shouted. "Memorize them. Rule number one: don't bother sucking up, I hate you already." Bailey took off through the surgical wing in full drill sergeant mode. Lexie and the other interns in her group struggled to keep up. She tried to listen to her new boss, but was busy looking around corners and down hallways to catch a glimpse of her sister. _Not that I know what she looks like, she could look like me or she could look like dad or she could look like Dr. Grey. Except I'm Dr. Grey now. _

"This is the board, all of the surgeries are listed on the board. Patient name, procedure, diagnosis, the names of the doctors scrubbing in, the or number. Down there is the recovery room. Be kind to the nurses, because they will save your asses and keep you from killing someone. You hope." They were at a steady pace of an almost run now, approaching the nurses station when Lexie saw him. _Crap. The flirter, the kisser from last night. _She looked around, but no giant hole had conveniently appeared nearby to swallow her and get her out of this situation.

"Good morning, Dr. Shepherd, Dr. Sloane. This is my latest group of suck-ups. I hope they manage to do as well as the last without creating as much trouble for me. Suck-ups, those are the attendings. You would do well to leave them alone." And the resident continued down the hall, giving a brief tour. Lexie kept her head down, but at the last moment turned to see the flirt from last night staring after her, one eyebrow speculatively raised. _Crap. _

_

* * *

_

Mark noticed that Derek was staring after the group of interns as well, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Not nearly as uncomfortable as Mark, though. But still, his friend--_were they friends again?--_had a ghost of a guilty look on his face.

"What?"

Derek turned to Mark. "Did you see that new intern?" His voice came out a whisper.

"Derek, there were four of them. But I noticed the chick."

"Mark, that _chick _was in the Emerald City Bar night before last, and offered to buy me a drink. Things were already complicated, and now? If Meredith finds out that the girl from the bar works in the hospital, she won't have to think about things. They'll be over."  
_  
How on earth did Derek ever make it through medical school? Someone needs to set him straight, and I guess it will have to be me. Nothing to lose._

"Derek, you are the stupidest doctor I've ever met. Are you telling me you were flirting with that girl?"

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes. "I told Meredith. We don't have secrets."

"Okay, let me put this out there for you. First off, if you let that girl buy you a drink, you are an idiot. . ."

"No, I didn't."

"Okay, you might not be an idiot. Jury's still out. Second, Meredith doesn't want to think about things. She wants to be with you."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah I do."

"How could you know that?"

"Third, that girl was at Joe's last night. And she went home alone. But not before getting a few slips of the tongue from Mark Sloane. She'd had some tequila, and I'd been all over Seattle looking for the runaway groom. So if anyone's life just got complicated, it's mine."

"You?"

"I may need some tips on how to handle a lusty intern, Derek."

Derek looked ready to lay Mark out on the floor again, just as he had when Mark first showed up at Seattle Grace. But then he was struck by the irony of the situation, the parallel lives that the two of them were leading. As much as he tried not to, he couldn't help but laugh. Once he had started, Mark couldn't help but join him in a few minutes of gut busting laughter as they walked down the hall.

Back at the nurse's station, Debbie turned to Olivia. "Now that? That's going in the blog for sure."

_

* * *

_

The group of interns finished up at The Pit—the Emergency Room to anyone who didn't work at Seattle Grace. It was The Pit, because working there meant you were stuck in a deep hole until rescued by a challenging patient presenting with a surgical case. Bailey gave each of the interns a not-very-challenging-yet-possibly-surgical case on which to practice non-existent skills on, and asked them to report back. Each of the interns, that is, save for Lexie.

"Grey, let's have a conversation. I'll pretend that I don't hate you, and you'll pretend that you can talk to me. This lasts only for the next five minutes, so I don't want you coming to tell me about your secret hopes and dreams, do you understand?"

Lexie nodded.

"Grey, let's have a conversation. I'll pretend that I don't hate you, and you'll pretend that you can talk to me. This lasts only for the next five minutes, so I don't want you coming to tell me about your secret hopes and dreams, do you understand?"

Lexie nodded.

"You know your sister works here? Good. Let's get this straight between us. I know your father blames her for your mother's death. And that is not the case, she was not responsible for that. And she has that name, just like you do, but she also has the talent to back it up. If you understand that you will learn from Dr. Grey, you might make it here. If you meet her with an imagined grudge, you will not. If you have any intention of bringing any ill will to the resident Dr. Grey, you need to get that idea out of your head. Dr. Grey is a valued doctor here, and she has put up with more than you will ever know to establish a name for herself. And her name, just like her mother's name, is actually making your life easier. Now go, deliver those lab results. This conversation is over. Forget about that part about talking to me, because that isn't going to happen."

"Um." _What could I possibly have to say to that?_ "Thanks?"

Bailey's face softened, and she almost smiled. But she didn't. She held out the stack of lab results.

"Thank you," Lexie croaked out, taking the stack of lab results from the resident's hands. She looked at the one on top. _Where on earth is room E19?_

_

* * *

_

"Callie!"

"George, I swear to you, this job is important to me. What do you need me for?"

"Take five minutes out of your day, and talk to me. I have a meeting with Webber in a half hour, and I need your opinion before I go."

Callie stood facing him, arms crossed and hip slung out in irritation. "Fine. Talk."

George looked both ways down the hall. "This is hard for me to say. But I fa-. . ."

"Oh, George." Callie suddenly was sad. "You don't need to tell me. I figured it out. Izzie thinks she's in love with you. You think you're in love with her. You slept together."

Suddenly, George felt every inch of him deserved the nickname that Cristina had given him at the beginning of their internship. He remembered the bunnies in Watership Down and how they had a word for how he felt right now—_tharn_. He had gone tharn in the face of his wife's inability to lie or hide from the truth.

"How. . .um. How did—did Izzie say. . ." He hadn't fully finished a sentence when she interrupted him.

"Don't. Don't bother. Just go back to the hotel, and pack. Pack everything that belongs to you, and not one scrap more. Don't think about touching the minibar. Go back to your little dorm house, if they'll have you. I'll talk to my lawyers."

_My lawyers._ And George was reminded of the money that his wife possessed, and knew that their divorce would be quick in coming, if that money could speed it up. He no longer needed to tell her that he had failed his test. She would figure that out when his name showed up on the schedule as a first year intern. Again.

_

* * *

_Meredith stared up at the board, trying to decide whether she should go looking for her assigned attending or if she would fare better back down in the pit. Her choice was taken from her when she heard voices behind her. 

"You'd think as a resident, she'd have something better to do than to stand and look at the board."

"Mmmm," answered another, even more familiar voice. "Do you think she'll turn around?"

_Now, that would be interesting, _she thought. _Stand here all day with my back turned and see just how far they'll go to get my attention. Is this what they had been like as friends in New York? _She realized that the two doctors had been spotted together at least twice that morning—two more times than was typical.

"I do believe that Dr. Grey is ignoring us, Dr. Shepherd. Do you know why that could be?"

"Dr. Sloane, I must say that I do not know. But my suspicion is that there may be some mud in her ears. Perhaps I should inspect closely."

She felt Derek step closer, and just as he was about to touch her hair, she whirled around.

"I most certainly do not have mud in my ears. And I've actually been looking for you. Both of you. Dr. Sloane, I'm assigned to your service over the next two weeks, so let me know if we should review the rules. And Dr. Shepherd, I need to talk to you."

Derek's eyes widened, and he nodded.

"No, it's. . .it's just that my sister is here."

"Molly is here?" Derek looked pleased; Meredith was sharing.

"No. The other one. She's a new intern here. She's assigned to Bailey, she's Bailey's intern. Which means that I'll have to work with her. She's got my name and she's here. She's working. Here. So I'll be working with her. On my team. Our team, since the three of us are on the same team. With you. And me. And my sister."

Mark stopped her. "Wait a minute. You mean that chick that was in Bailey's group, the one that was at Joe's is your sister?"

"Half-sister," Meredith corrected. And then heard what had been said. "The one at. . ." Her eyes widened. She realized her mouth was hanging open, so closed it. And then opened it to say something, then decided against it, and closed it again. And looked at Derek.

"You mean the highlight of your week? Was my sister?" She could barely get the words out through the knifing pain in her chest. She looked from Derek to Mark, and then back at Derek.

"Dr. Sloane, could you give me a few minutes please? I think I'm done sharing for the day." She staggered away, and managed to get to the staircase before collapsing onto the top step. The tears held off until the clanging slam of the door reverberated down through the levels of the staircase.

_

* * *

_

Alex and Addison scrubbed out of their emergency surgery. The neonate, underweight from the loss of nutrients because of the true knot in the umbilical cord, was safely in NICU with her father. The mother would recover, although she had scared them much more than her daughter. She would never be allowed to carry a child full-term—in fact, she would be discouraged from carrying a child ever again. _At least she has her older daughter and her newborn. _Addison cursed herself, and made a mental note that she had to come to a resolution with her own infertility. Being jealous of patients took her to an emotional place she wouldn't want to stay for long.

"So, tell me, Karev. Did you talk to Ava last night?" She glanced over, forcing her voice to stay casual.

Alex grabbed a towel and dried his hands, then clenched them around the rough terrycloth. "No, Dr. Montgomery. And you know I didn't. She was gone long before I got here. I'm glad she was gone, before I did something stupid. And I'm done playing the mind games." He tossed the towel onto the pile and walked out the door. Addison followed him out.

"Karev, what mind games are you talking about?"

He turned around. "I don't know what you're playing at, your whole 'go after Ava thing.' The worst part about it is that I did, I'm such an idiot that I took your advice and came over to the hospital, planning on telling a patient I wanted her. A _married _patient. How sick is that?"

Addison took a step back in the face of his vehemence. "But. . .I thought. . ." _So he wasn't in love with Ava? _

"You see the name Stevens on this badge?" He shook his head at her. "Dr. Montgomery, let's just stop. Don't give me advice, don't tell me what to do. Unless the subject is the practice of medicine, we don't need to be discussing it." And he turned, and continued down the hall, shouting over his shoulder, "I'm going to talk to the husband now."

Addison stopped following him and watched him go. She shook her head slightly. She had been sure that the patient had been the cause of his sudden reversal a few days earlier, the rejection that had caused her to bolt to Los Angeles. The one that had made her decide she needed a baby to complete her, since it was obvious that no man ever would. _So what is up with the mysterious Alex Karev?_ She knew she hadn't imagined their mutual attraction, the tension that had built up over the previous weeks. Months, even. Any unbiased observer would have seen the messages they'd telegraphed each other. And, yes, she had made a bit of an idiot of herself after Jane Doe's cesarean, hauling him off into the closest supply closet. But his sudden about-face, explicitly rejecting her—and then another reversal, flirting with her at Preston and Yang's wedding—well, color her confused.

And confused wasn't anyplace Addison wanted to stay either.

_

* * *

_

She was pissed.

She was disappointed.

She was crushed.

She was angry.

She was devastated.

She was heartbroken.

Actually, she was all of the above.

_But the worst thing, the very worst thing of all is that when we got married, we both meant it. We meant it that day, we meant it that week in Vegas. All it took to end our marriage? Was Seattle. His friends. His freaking friends._

Callie had known that she wasn't like his friends. She'd heard Grey talk about being the angry punk girl in high school, and maybe that was true, but now? Now she and Stevens and Yang were all like. . .skinny and pretty. And weird and judgy. She should have known that she'd never fit with them. But seriously, for Izzie to sleep with George? _Why?_

_Is Izzie really that selfish?_ And then Callie snorted. Because, if nothing else, she was pragmatic. And the answer was evident, at least to her: Izzie didn't care what damage she did, as long as she felt loved.

So right now? She was looking for Dr. Isobel Stevens. She found her coming out of a patient room.

"Stevens? A word with you?" And she saw the truth, again, flicker across Izzie's face in a ghost of what she would have called guilt, had she been watching someone with a conscience. But then it was gone. She grabbed Izzie by the wrist and dragged her to the stairwell door.

"You did it. You couldn't get rid of me by playing the best friend card, so you slept with George to put a wedge between us. I can't believe you. I should have known, should have expected that you would do something like this."

Izzie gaped at the other woman. "How. . .who?"

Callie suddenly didn't care how much of a fool she was making of herself. She pulled Izzie into the stairwell.

"You said you were his friend. I know you hate me, fine, I'm so devastated that the little blonde model docter doesn't like Callie. But you were his friend." _No tears, there will be no crying while talking to Izzie Stephens. _"You should have been there for him, not destroyed him. Because George. . ." and she stopped, feeling a new surge of anger for the woman in front of her, took a breath and went on. "George is a good person and you? Being with you, sleeping with you, knowing you destroyed his marriage? Forced his move to Mercy West? You will destroy him. He will have lost _everything _because some selfish sperm-burping gutter whore decided that he was her true love."

Izzie looked Callie straight in the eye and asked, "So you decided not to try for a baby?"

Callie lost it with that, drew back her left hand and slapped that bitch across the face. And then, _(ogodwhathaveidone)_ seeing the cheek turn white then red and the tears that did come to the younger woman's eyes, she knew that she might be seeing the end of her career, the end of her life at Seattle Grace, the end of her marriage, the end of her life. Izzie's hand covered the mark.

"Bitch," she hissed. "I think the chief will be interested in hearing about this particular management style." And with that, Izzie left the stairwell.

_A/N: This succession of scenes was hard to write; I've been at a conference since Thursday & will be out of town through this week. I'm not sure when more will be up, but I expect to see the Bursons in the next session. Unless the characters take the reigns again._


	19. Paradise By The Dashboard Lights

George got to the chief's office to find it empty. Patricia waved him over to her desk.

"Your meeting with Chief Webber got bumped, because he thought you might benefit from talking to someone else first. You have less than five minutes to get to Dr. Burson's office." She smiled at George. "Dr. O'Malley, I know about yesterday's bad news. But you have lots of supporters here in the hospital, people who like that you work here, and hope you continue."

George bobbed his head. "Yeah, um. Thanks. And. . .just. Thanks." He turned and ran back down the hall.

* * *

Izzie was storming up to the chief's office, seething that a fellow doctor, her alleged boss had actually hit her. She began to rehearse how she would tell the chief. And then she slowly lost steam. Really, what could she say? _Chief, I slept with a married man, and his wife bitch-slapped me in the stairwell. Right. Maybe Chief, you know how Meredith gets drunk and sleeps with inappropriate men. Don't get too worried about her, I do her one better. I get drunk, sleep with inappropriate men and fall in love with them._ She just couldn't imagine the chief responding to anything she said with something positive. Callie was his pick for Chief Resident. She was the former intern who cut the LVAD wire, jeopardizing Seattle Grace's transplant program. Callie was the orthopaedic surgeon everyone wanted, a Rising Star according to the article pinned up on the bulletin board. She was Doctor Model. Her steps faltered, and stopped. _If I take this to the chief, if I go head-to-head with Callie right now? I will lose._ She was standing on the walkway, and turned to look out the window, to the flag and the horizon beyond. 

The beeping of her pager interrupted her reverie, and when she read the display, she slapped her head in disgust. She had forgotten the appointment with Susan Burson, which started five minutes ago. _Crap_.

As she rounded the corner to the Karma Payable office _(that must have been Cristina who came up with that—or it's bitter enough to be Meredith—anyway, it's oddly fitting)_ she saw him. George was leaning against a wall. _Dressed in civilian clothes? What?_

"Hey, I thought you were starting at Mercy West today?" She smiled at him, hesitantly, shoving the anger at his no-showing her at the chapel yesterday down where it wouldn't bother her.

"Yeah, no, that's not happening." George was looking down at his feet.

She wrinkled her forehead at him, trying to figure out what was going on. "You're not transferring?"

"The transfer was contingient on me passing the board exams. I failed."

Izzie gasped. "Oh, George, what are you going to do?"

He shook his head. "I guess that's why I have this appointment with Dr. Burson scheduled. Jack. To help me figure it out."

Just then, Margaret came out of Jack's office, followed by Susan who went into her own. "Yeah, glad you guys showed. Dr. O'Malley, Jack's ready for you now. Dr. Stevens, you're up as well."

_I remember every little thing  
As if it happened only yesterday_

George shut the door behind him, sat in the chair he'd used in previous sessions and asked the doctor, "You know why I'm here for this emergency session?"

Jack nodded. "The test. Your future. You're at a crossroads."

"Yeah, a crossroads. In more ways than one."

"What do you mean?" asked the doctor.

"What happens when you figure out that the person you thought you were isn't the person you really are?"

_And we were glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife,  
Glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife.  
C'mon, hold on tight,_

Izzie plopped down in the chair she thought of as 'hers' in Susan's office. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she'd probably had twice the number of visits anyone else had. _Which sucks, really, because I've gone through the regular inhouse counselor and Dr. Heron. And now Susan Burson has tried to shrink my head._

"So," Susan began. "It really is a fishbowl around here when even the temporary therapists know the gossip. How are you with what happened last night?"

"Last night? Um, it was, ok, it was bad when he didn't show up, but we're going to talk this afternoon."

"You're talking to Dr. Burke?" Susan was confused.

"Um, oh, I thought you were talking about. . .never mind. No, I'm not talking to Burke. I was talking about George. I was honest with him, I told him I loved him. That's a good thing, right?"

Izzie had never noticed that slight wrinkle in Susan's forehead.

_C'mon, hold on tight!  
Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night,  
I can see paradise by the dashboard light. . ._

"Who did you think you were, and how is that different than who you are?"

George shook his head. "I thought I was loyal. I thought I was dependable. I was Georgie. I was always there when I said I would be. Eagle scout. And I was that person. But I'm not any more. I can't stand myself any more, I can't look at myself in the mirror. And all of the choices I'd made based on being that person were the wrong ones."

"Which choices?"

"Oh, God," George groaned. "My marriage is over. Callie kicked me out. And all I am right now is relieved. I couldn't look at her any more, knowing how much I failed her."

"How did you fail her?"

"I cheated on her. With my best friend. Except now we aren't best friends any more. Obviously."

"What made you cheat?"

"We'd had a fight and I went over to Meredith and Izzie's house, where I used to live. I showed up with a bottle of booze. We got drunk and. . .it just happened. Which is lame to say. But the reality, because I don't really remember what happened."

"What happened when you told Callie?"

"I didn't tell Callie, and I don't know how she found out. Izzie and I decided that we'd never tell Callie, we'd move on. When working together became too awkward, I decided to transfer to Mercy West. That won't happen now, of course. Unless I do it as an intern."

_Ain't no doubt about it—  
Baby got to go and shout it  
Ain't no doubt about it—  
We were doubly blessed_

"Izzie, we've talked about a couple of the relationships you've had since you started your internship. First there was Hank—"

"Oh, Hank." Izzie waved her hand dismissively. "Hank and I were over before I started here. I saw him once, for what, a 5-minute conversation? Before he left."

"Okay, but before that, would you have said you were serious about him?"

"Serious enough for him to fly out here." Susan nodded. She would have pushed for at least that response.

"And then you dated Alex."

"Well, Alex was a mistake. I mean, it was a good mistake, a really really good mistake, but a mistake."

"But at the time, he was important to you."

"NO! I mean, it was just about the sex. That's it."

"If it was just about the sex, then why were you so upset when he wasn't faithful?"

_I gotta know right now—do you love me?  
Will you love me forever?  
Do you need me?  
Will you never leave me?_

"Have you talked to them about the possibility of repeating your year at Mercy West?"

George shook his head. "Transferring was important to Callie. Not to me."

"What are you thinking of doing now?"

"I'm thinking of a couple of things. Changing specialties. Babies like me; kids like me. I've always liked them. When we took care of the quints, I felt like a better doctor than I did the rest of the year. Or, I could do the surgical internship again. But I'd need to talk to someone who could let me know if I'm surgical material."

"Wouldn't the last year indicate that?"

George shook his head. "I barely made it into this program. I had to get a suit and tie and beg Webber for the chance. I told him I'd blow him away, that I was a marathoner, not a sprinter. And he gave me a chance." His laugh sounded like a sob. "Too bad I blew it."

"I can see how that would get in the way."

Silence filled the room for a few minutes.

"So. Tell me, what are your plans with Izzie?"

_I gotta know right now,  
Before we go any further,  
Do you love me?  
Will you love me forever?_

Izzie hated this Susan bitch more and more.

"It was just. . .I mean, I thought it could be more. But it wasn't."

"You were upset because you were hurt by it, right?"

"Yeah. So? He slept with someone else. That hurts."

"Not unless there's an emotional involvement.

"Fine. There was an emotional involvement."

"So it wasn't just about the sex."

"Fine, okay, it wasn't just about the sex. But it's over, it was over the day that Denny came back."

"Denny. You haven't talked much about your relationship with him. I know you've been over it with Dr. Jenning and Dr. Heron. But I'm not taking it on from the hospital, doctor/patient angle. I want to know how seriously you were involved with him."

Izzie was silent. _How dare she? How dare this woman ask how serious her love for Denny was?_ "I loved him. We were engaged to be married."

"And when did he die?"

"Um, about three months ago."

"And then in the last couple of weeks, you fell in love with your best friend."

"Yes."

"After a drunken sexual encounter."

"Yes."

"Your married best friend."

"Yes."

"Your married best friend whose wife is now your supervisor."

"Yes."

"Izzie. Think about this carefully. You are in love with your married best friend, only after drunk sex, and his wife is your boss."

Izzie said nothing.

"Izzie, what is the difference between your relationship with George and the other times this year when you thought you were in love?"

"I. . .I don't know what you're asking."

"Would you say that your love for Hank was real?"

"No. No, not at all. It didn't last."

"So what makes George different?"

Izzie looked up at Susan, her eyes silently pleading for an end to the questions.

"Okay, what about Alex? You were in the process of falling for Alex, when Denny showed up again. What's the difference between George and Alex?"

"They are completely different." But Izzie looked at the rippled wallpaper instead of Susan.

"How?"

"They just. . .are."

"Okay, let's move forward to Denny."

_Let's not._

"Do you remember when you realized you were in love with Denny?"

Izzie shook her head.

"I don't want to talk about Denny."

"That's fine. But I have a question for you. About all of these relationships." Susan paused, and then went on. "How many dates have you been on in the past year?"

Izzie rolled her eyes.

"I'm an intern. I don't go out on dates, the hospital mortgaged my soul. I don't have reliable nights off, and even when I do, I don't have time to date."

"So how many?"

"One."

"I'm not even going to ask which of the four men you were involved with bothered to take you out. But I will point out to you that you deserve to be treated better. You deserve a date. And having drunk sex with someone, convincing yourself you love them and chasing them around the hospital telling them so. . .that doesn't give you the respect you deserve."

It felt like a slap. _A slap to the face. Well, that's what it was, wasn't it?_

"How dare you. . .I was in love with Denny."

Aknd with that, Susan's eyes grew moist. "Izzie, Denny is the only one of those four I believe you about. Because he's the only one you didn't sleep with."

Izzie rolled her eyes. "What, I am such the dingbat that I fall in love with everyone I sleep with?"

_Let me sleep on it. . .  
Will you love me forever?_

"So. Tell me, what are your plans with Izzie?"

George shook his head. "She told me she was in love with me. She's not, but she thinks she is. It's crazy—she's acting like. . .she's like I was last year, she wants to be in love with me, like I wanted to be in love with Meredith. She's made up this whole love story in her head. And all I want is my friend back."

"Do you want your wife back?"

The question clearly stunned George. "Okay, I'm a asshole. I'm so pathetic. I don't. If she wants me, I'll work on it. I will. I hope she doesn't want me. I shouldn't have gotten married this year. My dad died; I was doing well before then. But my dad. He's gone, you know?"

Jack nodded.

"I shouldn't have married Callie at all. I've hurt her so badly. I don't know if there's a future for us. If she wants that. But if she'll give me another chance, I have to try to make it right with her. What kind of man would I be otherwise?"

_Let me sleep on it. . .  
Will you love me forever?_

Izzie rolled her eyes. "What, I am such the dingbat that I fall in love with everyone I sleep with?"

Susan raised her eyebrows and looked back at the patient.

"You don't think I can have sex with someone and not be in love with them?"

"Actually? Yes. But I think you want every partner to be your Prince Charming. And for some reason—we can explore that later if you want—but something in you doesn't want sex to be just about the sex. You want it to have meaning. Even when it's meaningless going in, afterward you want retroactive meaning."

Izzie barked a cynical laugh. "What kind of girl would I be if I didn't want it to have meaning?"

"Just don't invent a meaning when there isn't one. Be honest. At least with yourself."

"With myself?"

"Let yourself not be in love if you aren't in love. Don't cheapen the way you felt about Denny by using that word for anyone else you choose to sleep with."

"You don't think I'm in love with George?"

"I think you want to think that you are in love with George, but you don't believe it yourself. If you are in love with George, fine. But be honest with yourself."

Izzie sat for a few more minutes, wiping her eyes.

"Thanks. Thanks for that. I don't know if I am. I guess I should figure it out before I talk to him." Izzie stood up and smiled at Susan. "I'll make another appointment as I leave."

Susan smiled back. "I'll see you next time."

_So now I'm praying for the end of time, _

_to hurry up and arrive. _

_'Cause if I've got to spend another minute with you,_

_I don't think that I could really survive._

"So, when you go downstairs to talk to the chief about your future, what will you say?"

George sighed. "First, I'll ask if he wants me to take my internship year over here. Then I'll ask about other specialties. I'm going to think clearly about my options. Mull it over. And then I'll decide."

"Okay," Jack nodded. "Depending on your decision, I may not see you again. But drop me a line. Pick up a card from Margaret, send me an email. I'll be interested to see what you decide." He stood up and extended his hand. "You are a good guy, George. A good guy."

_I'll never break my promise or forget my vow,  
But God only knows what I can do right now.  
I'm praying for the end of time—  
It's all that I can do.  
Praying for the end of time, so I can end my time with you._

_It was long ago and it was far away  
And it was so much better than it is today_


	20. Ironing Out Wrinkles

**Ironing out Wrinkles**

When Meredith left Derek and Mark at the OR board, the two men were silent for a few moment.

"Well, that could have gone better." Mark turned to Derek, whose stricken face told him that humor was not the appropriate response here. "Come on, Derek. It's Grey. She's crazy about you. You're just both plain crazy, and that complicates things."

"Mark, we're not. . .this is not a good time for us. And I'm not sure we're going to make it out. She keeps pulling away from me, and I need her to. . ." Derek paused, trying to put into words how much Meredith meant to him.

"You need her to need you."

And this time, when Mark looked at Derek, he saw anger instead of pain.

"She never lets me in, Mark. I want to be there for her. She lets her friends in, and I guess since you know so much about how she feels, she lets you in. But if it's me, she walks away. And I don't know how to deal with that."

"Derek, you're an asshole. She doesn't let anyone in. The only way someone gets in with her is by kicking and clawing their way in. I don't know much about those friends of hers, but I can guarantee that they stick by her, even when it hurts. And you don't."

"I don't?" Both of them were trying to keep their voices down, but the frustration and intensity in their voices was noticed by those walking up and down the stairs.

"You do what you've done all your life. You walk away."

Derek's eyes flared with anger. "I walk away?"

Mark felt trapped. But he'd started this, he needed to finish it, because Derek needed to hear the truth. And he was the only one who was close enough to tell it.

* * *

_That's all you get, Meredith. Just moments with the people you love. _Meredith couldn't recall having that conversation with Denny, yet his was the voice saying those words in her memory. _Maybe when I tried to warn him off of Izzie?_ In any case, she knew she needed more of Derek than a moment, more than the misery they had been through between the time Addison showed up and the Prom, more than their current misery. Even their friendship had been so painfully not enough for her. _I can't see it end again. We just need to figure out a way around this. Or through this. Whatever this is._

The stairwell door slammed on the floor above. She heard an angry voice—Callie's voice, rising in intensity and pain. She craned her neck around the banister to see who was on the receiving end. She identified Izzie's blonde hair just as Callie shrieked her insult. Meredith couldn't make out Izzie's response, but she could see Callie's coming a mile away. _Crap_. She started running up the stairs to separate the two, but Izzie left the stairwell.

Meredith stood, looking at Callie. The new Chief Resident wasn't a friend, not really, but she'd been one of Cristina's bridesmaids. Or tried to. Whatever. And Izzie. . .Izzie had been acting oddly recently, to say the least.

"What do you want?" Callie's tone was bitter, and she stared at Meredith with a challenge in her eye.

"Um, I was down on the surgery floor and I heard the yelling. Are you okay?"

"Sure, Grey, I'm fine. After all, I should have known with your group of interns that married men are fair game."

"Callie, I don't think that. . ."

"Save it, Grey. You knew about Izzie and George, didn't you?"

Meredith found herself at a loss for words again. _Izzie? And George? That was. . .just wrong. Wasn't it? They were like. . .Greg and Marsha Brady. Or Joey and Rachel. _

"Callie, I swear, I knew nothing about it." Meredith took another step closer to her. "I suspected, but. . .are you okay?"

Callie shook her head and sat down. "Oh, God, I slapped her. I just screwed the pooch on my career."

Meredith couldn't argue, not really. She had no idea what Richard would say when Izzie flounced into his office and told him what happened. She just shook her head and sat next to Callie.

"So what happens with you and George? Do you think you'll be able to make it through?"

Callie's laugh was an ugly bitter sound. "Seriously? He's screwing Izzie, and you think he's going to come back to me? She's a model. I'm curvy."

Meredith sat in silence as she thought about those words. "It's a girl thing, isn't it? I mean, we all hate Izzie for the Bethany Whisper thing. I hate Addison because she never has a bad hair day and her grubby clothes look like the best thing in my closet. You throw out the word curves like it's a bad thing, when most guys drool over your boobs and butt. So we all see each other as prettier than ourselves."

Callie blinked. "What are you talking about Grey?"

"Sorry." And Meredith was, she was really sorry. She'd forgotten that most people didn't deal like she and Cristina did. Most people actually liked sympathy and talking about feelings. "I just was, it seemed like you didn't think like, and it's not true, because you are." _Crap, there's no way she could have followed that, was there?_

"I am? Seriously?" Callie seemed genuinely surprised.

_Maybe she did follow that._

"Seriously, yeah. Yeah, you are. Go ask Sloane, he'd give you an honest assessment."

"Sloane." And from Callie's lips, the word just oozed disdain. "Been there, done that."

"Oh yeah. I forgot." And then Meredith remembered. "Crap, Sloane. Crap crap crap. I'm supposed to be—and you! You're supposed to be working too!"

As they stood up, a question came to Meredith.

"When George comes back, should I tell him there's no room in the house? Because Alex lives there, and seriously, even if Derek is gone, there's only so many people that can live there at once."

Callie grinned, and then asked, "Do you think Derek is gone?"

Meredith shrugged, her back to Callie as she went downstairs. "Who the hell knows? Not me!"

Callie shook her head and left the stairwell to try to finish out the rest of her first day in a dream job.

* * *

After Meredith punched open the door from the stairwell , she barrelled onto the surgical floor still reeling from the added information about her roommate and former roommate. She was only a few feet away from the two men in front of the OR board before she realized their conversation had probably been as personal and angry as hers with Callie. And the subject was probably her, as they turned, focusing two intense gazes on her.

"Dr. Sloane," she said, as matter-of-factly as she could. "I'm going to be assigned to your service for two weeks. Would you care to brief me on your upcoming surgeries? That way I'll be in on the patient care from beginning to end." She flicked her eyes over at Derek, felt her lips move in an almost-smile, then quickly looked back to Mark. "Knowing what you expect from me would help our working relationship, don't you think?"

Mark sighed. "Grey, already I can tell. This is going to be a long two weeks. Give me a minute to wrap up here, and I'll meet you in my office."

Meredith nodded, and looked back to Derek. The residual anger from his conversation with Mark was draining from his eyes, and he smiled at her.

"Hey, Mark, let's finish this at Joe's after work." Derek's smile pushed the anger the rest of the way from his eyes, and Meredith was able to smile back at him before she left to make her way up to Mark's cubby of an office.

* * *

When George got back to the chief's office, Patricia waved him in with a smile on her face. But when he got inside the office, Richard Webber had no such smile.

"Have a seat, George."

George sat down in the same chair he'd occupied just over a year ago, when he had begged the chief to give him a shot to let him proved himself. _Some proof_. And there it was again, the mocking voice that he'd had to listen to when he didn't have a date for his high school prom, when he hadn't gotten into the undergrad school he wanted, when he. . ._well, let's fast forward, when I didn't match and when I failed the intern exam_.

George was growing pretty tired of hearing that voice.

But not tired enough to give up. _If listening to that voice was part of the price of this meeting, fine._

"Sir?" The chief had been looking at him. Not staring in a disconcerting way, just looking at him, as if he were waiting for George to speak first.

"Yes, George?"

"Um. Well, I talked to Dr. Burson, and he helped me figure some things out. But as far as what my next professional step is, I don't even really know what my options are."

"George, a year ago, you sat in that chair and asked me to give you a chance. I did that. I need for you to tell me what you want next. What is it that you want?"

George nodded, understanding. His move. He took a deep breath, and then dove in.

"I want another chance. I want for you to tell me that there's a place in the current year of interns. I want to keep my focus this year. I could sit here and tell you all of the things that happened this year to distract me. I could talk to you about my roommates. About my father, about getting married, about the possibility of getting divorced. And it could be that. It could be any of those things, it could be all of them.

"But it's not really them. It's me. It's that after a year, after spending this year as an intern, I think that Dr. Collins may have been right. I may have been immature, I may have been distracted."

Richard's eyes were intent on the young man before him. He nodded, gesturing for George to continue.

"I think this year, I've changed. Of course I've changed, we've all changed. But I've had some really hard lessons come my way this year. And I wasn't paying attention, not at first. But this past week, and particularly last night, I figured it out.

"It's supposed to be hard. No one ever promised it would be easy, that it would be a walk in the park. Any of it—getting what you want, either in love or in a career. Not to mention having it all. It's hard. I wanted it to be easy. And it wasn't. Everything else has always seemed hard, in the details, but for the most part? Things were easy. And this year, they were so hard. But just because things are hard doesn't mean they are impossible. And it doesn't mean they aren't worth it."

_I am making absolutely no sense_. _But for whatever reason, Chief Webber seems to understand_. And so George kept talking, kept giving voice to the understanding that was just now floating his way.

"I'm not sure if saying this means I'm immature or what. But I want to repeat my intern year here at Seattle Grace. Not run away from any problems, but face them."

George waited now for the chief to say something. Anything. And, in a cruel moment of _dejá vu_, the chief pulled a single sheet of paper from a file on his desk.

"George. As you know, failing the intern exam is a critical matter. However, the consensus of your superiors in the surgical program is that you be given another opportunity to succeed if you so choose. I can't let you take the exam again, like I did Grey, because your scores have been turned in to the boards. But I can let you do your intern year again."

George nodded, but waited. Just because the chief _could _didn't mean he would.

"Based on these unsolicited recommendations that stress your personal growth in the last year, your maturity, your ability to think under pressure, your kindness to patients. . .I'd like to welcome you to your intern year at Seattle Grace Hospital. Well. You've heard my speech before. Go find Dr. Bailey before she decides to put you to work performing rectals. Let an intern with less experience do that. My gut tells me that you won't fail this year, and that you will be an outstanding doctor."

George blinked. He thought that of all the hard things, this would be the hardest. But all he had done was decide, had spoken from his heart, not letting his Georgieness get in the way. Suddenly he realized. . ._I'm not Georgie any more_.

It was true. Since his father's death, no one had called him Georgie.

He was George.

* * *

Callie's intention was to go straight to the chief. She didn't deal in secrets or hidden truths very well, never had. That's why she had called George on sleeping with Izzie, pretended to know as fact what her gut had been telling her had happened. And his reaction had confirmed it. _Ass_.

So now, she wanted to go to the chief, before he sent for her, tell him what and why and how sorry she was. Even tell Izzie she was sorry—which wouldn't be a complete lie, not really. She was sorry for the slap, because it was a stupid thing to do. It made her look and feel like she was about 12 years old, having a face slapping/hair pulling girl fight over a stupid gawky guy.

That was her intention. Straight to the chief.

But she got an ortho admit through the pit, one that Yang handled like a pro. She was actually starting to feel comfortable around those two, Grey and Yang. Some of it was making it through the fiasco that was yesterday, but she hadn't realized that if you could get past Meredith's whining (and she did have to admit to herself that was one hell of a big if) and past Cristina's single-minded Lady Macbeth of Medicine act (also pretty huge), the two of them could be fun. It was just Stevens and her poison that made her feel like she had food on her face or betweeen her teeth. She was planning for Yang to bring the guy into the OR and work on setting the bone. Callie needed to oversee the pre-op, then she had a couple of other things to do, which was typical seeing as how she was at work. So it was about an hour down the road before she got up there.

And came toe to toe with George.

"George. You're still here." _If I can play this out by being Ice Woman, I might not feel like the butt of a joke_. Her hand went up to touch her cheek, brushing off imagined breakfast crumbs.

"Yeah. And you'll see me around. Callie, I need to tell you. . ."

"George, save it. No need to transfer now."

And she neatly stepped around him and poked her head into the chief's office.

"Dr. Webber, do you have a second?"

"Dr. O'Malley, sit down. I just finished up with George. As you probably know, he's decided to repeat the year here."

_Probably know. . .repeat. . .what?_

"Repeat the year here?" And now Callie was trying to remember what she'd eaten for breakfast, because surely it wasn't her imagination that it was on her face.

"Well, he couldn't go to Mercy West as a surgical resident after failing the exam. But he's got so much potential, and the attendings expressed confidence in him. Sometimes it takes longer for the water to boil."

"Yes." _Callie, you are an idiot. He's been trying to tell you all morning_. "Dr. Webber, thanks. Um. Has Dr. Stevens been in to see you?"

Richards brows drew together as he saw the troubled face on his chief resident.

"She hasn't been in here today, no. Is there a problem?"

Callie shook her head. "No." And then she changed her mind. "Yes. But I don't know if it needs to be your problem. Let me try to handle it."

Richard's eyes narrowed as he nodded.

"Callie, I know that you are taking on a huge responsibility. And I know that other things haven't been going well, with George's test results, and whatever else is going on I don't know about. If you can't do this job, if you don't need the extra pressure right now, just let me know. I'lAl hold no grudges."

Callie stood up a little straighter. "No sir. No problems here, none. Nothing I can't handle."

She gave him a confident nod and said goodbye, then went to check on Yang. She needed to get into the OR and heal some bone. Or maybe smash it. _Good thing Yang was in the driver's seat for this one._

* * *

**A/N: **George's scene with Webber will make more sense if you've read the most recent update to The Match. (That story is set before the intern year begins.) 


	21. Ties that Bind

**The Binds That Tie **

Alex was looking at the x-rays, waiting for a pediatric orthopedic consult. He'd let the mom go for her vaginal birth. The baby was big, but there weren't any real warning signs, and there were no severe complications either—except for this greenstick fracture. _Dammit._ He was distracted from studying when the door opened.

"What'd you do, Karev, throw the kid on the floor to see if babies really do bounce?" He didn't even turn around to look at her. He couldn't look at her.

"Dr. Montgomery, the patient wanted to attempt a vaginal delivery. That's what we did. The collarbone will be fine, there won't be any long-term complications."

"You'd better hope not, Karev. This is the kind of thing that the malpractice sharks live for." Her heels clicked and snapped as she crossed the floor to the lightboard. He felt the warmth of her body as she leaned toward the black and white film.

"It looks clear. Let's wait to see what Callie has to say about it." And as if Addison had summoned her by saying her name, Callie came into the room.

"Hmmm, Karev, this looks pretty straightforward. We'll put the baby's arm in a sling, and she'll be right as rain." Karev waited for the assault. She was, after all, his boss. And O'Malley's wife. And he would never be able to understand either one of those things. But instead, the Chief Resident went to go take care of the newborn, and he and Addison were alone.

"Alex. . ."

"Stop it, Addison." He couldn't believe it, that she was still trying to talk to him, pretend they were all buddy-buddy. Couldn't believe himself, actually, that he'd been manipulated by her. And yet. . .he did deserve it, he deserved the declaration of hate after he'd pulled his Mr. Callous act on her. _Which, you know, came just a little too late, a little too late to crush. . ._ and he cut that thought off right there. Because she was a bitch, after all. She'd manipulated him when he was saying goodbye to Ava. No, Rebecca. _She's Rebecca now, and yes, I care about her, but not like that. Not like I care for. . .godammit. What is she saying now? _Alex tuned back in to realize that Addison was flipping through the chart.

"There's no indication here that she wouldn't be able to have an uneventful vaginal delivery, the baby wasn't breech even as of her last ultrasound. So, actually Karev, I think you are fine. Nobody is going to be able to say you did anything wrong."

"Well, that's a change, Dr. Montgomery."

"Alex. . ." He cut her off, ignoring the use of his first name.

"Was there anything else you wanted to tell me, Dr. Montgomery? Because I do have other patients."

He stared her down, stared at the depths of those crystal blue eyes. Stared at the face of the woman he—_for Chrissakes, stop._

She blinked, and then said, "I'm leaving Seattle Grace for a position in Los Angeles day after tomorrow. This is my last shift." And she left the room.

_Crap.  
_

* * *

Meredith was late-ish for lunch, but she'd been busy with Mark, doing cosmetic repair on a toddler who had investigated his mother's iron too closely. Through the procedure, the second in a series of grafts, she could tell that Mark wanted to talk to her about whatever was going on with her and Derek.

(_An hour previously_)

"Mark. You're breaking the rules, remember the rules? Rule number two was no talking about Derek."

He'd concentrated on the graft, but reminded her, "You've talked to me about Derek enough. Didn't we suspend those rules?"

"No, as a matter of fact, we didn't. I can talk to you about Derek, and you may respond. Right now, though, we're making baby beautiful again. And you may not talk to me about Derek."

He'd grinned his predatory grin and bobbed his head.

"Should we talk about your sister then?"

Meredith rolled her eyes. "Since the only thing I know about my sister is that she was the highlight of Derek's week, I'd just as soon not."

"Grey, she only flirted with Derek. Two sentences. I'm the one who nearly had her at home with me last night."

Meredith was shocked enough to drop a surgical instrument. She didn't, but she was shocked enough to. _McSteamy? With her sister?_

"Well, then. Dr. Sloane, I'm not sure if I should warn you off my sister or just stand in amazement that yet again, you and Derek are after the same woman."

"Dr. Grey, I'm so glad you brought that up. We are not after the same woman. And you know that." Before he had been halfway through the statement, Meredith was shaking her head.

"Mark, I'm so not having this conversation with you. Don't go there." 

And he hadn't; the rest of the procedure had been carried out in relative silence. Now she was wandering down to the hospital cafeteria, even though whatever she found down there would be hours past its prime.

* * *

Dr. Cristina Yang, holder of a B.A. from Smith, and M.D. from Stanford and a Ph. D. from Berkeley, was on her game. Granted, the game was a lightweight, a scrimmage if you will, but she was on it. She'd taken this patient through setting the bone, which called for inserting pins. She'd need to do that when she used the bone saw to get through a sternum, so it wasn't like she'd never use the skill. Instead of pins, she'd use the wire, but still. There was something she could learn here.

_Today hasn't been tough at all._ There had been some sympathetic glances, which she had wordlessly stomped down with her (lack of) eyebrows raised. She had ended up without an actual assignment; understandable, because she wasn't supposed to be here. But she while hadn't been thrilled at the couple of weeks on some godforsaken island; she was thrilled at the chance to run a trauma or four in the pit. And this last one was simple enough for O'Malley (bridesmaid, not Bambi) to let her do on her own. Okay, with supervision in the actual OR. But still, while it wasn't decanulating a heart, she didn't have Burke hovering over her, second guessing every move. And now she was done, scrubbed out, able to hit the trail. Or track down her person and see how her day was going.

* * *

Izzie had moved through her shift on auto-pilot. None of the patients she treated while assisting Dr. Hahn had noticed; the blonde doctor smiled, remembered their names and looked them in the eyes. But she forgot them, their names and their eyes as soon as she left their rooms. She was concentrating on diagnosing another patient altogether: herself.

Izzie knew how people saw her. She knew that she was the pretty girl, the blonde. And even though she could work that, had worked it, she hated when people stopped there. _Denny had looked deeper. Hell, Denny hadn't seemed to care about the pretty girl._ He'd seen that she cared. That she loved. And that she was smart. 

_Susan sees that I'm smart. _They'd spent a couple of sessions talking about the Dr. Model thing, and Susan had been impressed that Izzie had been able to pay for med school with modeling. _Two entirely different types of intelligence she'd said, and succeeding with both is impressive. _So if Susan thought she was smart, why did she think she was stupid enough to fall in love with anyone she slept with?

And then she saw it. Saw her pattern of reaching out for love with a man, any man. Saw her substitution of sex for love, and saw that she had been able to convince herself that it was the same thing. Saw that it wasn't a question of being stupid, but of fooling herself that whatever man wanted her body was the one who would love her for her soul. And that she would love in the same way.

_I'm more pathetic than Meredith. At least Meredith never thought she was in love with any of the guys from the bar. _Izzie wondered if there was enough flour at home to deal with the crap that was going on in her life. She had to figure out the George thing, before George did anything for her. Before their friendship was irrevocably broken.

* * *

To be honest, George was enjoying his first shift as an intern much more the second time around than he had the first. He could close his eyes and stick a patient with rolling veins. He had managed not to have a crush on any of his fellow interns, which was a very good thing, because he already had one too many women in his life. He was pretty sure that none of the attendings hated him, although he knew that Dr. Hahn, currently covering for Burke, had a pretty good head start given his temper tantrum before his father's surgery. And his resident? Given the grin and nod that Bailey tossed his way before loudly berating him for being late for the first shift, he was pretty sure that his resident loved his ass for sucking it up and starting over.

The thing that threw him off was Lexie Grey. _It would throw anyone off, being face to face with the un-met half-sister of a huge crush/embarrassing sexual encounter/former roommate. Right?_ He was pretty sure that yes, it would. So after he was assigned to help her out with lab deliveries, he took the opportunity to talk to her. And maybe part of it actually was to impart some of his "I failed the exam, but I still know more medicine than you do and I had my finger in a heart in an elevator" knowledge, but at least some of it was to get the scoop on this chick, to figure out whether she agreed with Thatcher (_who looks like me, remember_) and blamed Meredith for her mom's death (_or the law of gravity, which made about as much sense_) or if she could be the slightest bit neutral about her sister. _Or maybe--hey, here's an idea--understood that crappy things happen but family is family and maybe another sister would be a good thing to have. _Even as jock and car and totally seventh grade as his brothers insisted on being, he still loved them. They were still family. Did Lexie get that?

So far, the jury was out.

* * *

If anyone in the hospital ever questioned the bonds, strong as family ties, that bolted this group of interns together, they only had to watch the cafeteria. There are no set lunch breaks in hospitals, no guarantees of dinner breaks, and no promises of breakfast. Meals for the medical staff are scarfed down on the fly, eaten with a chart in the lap and a pen in one hand and an apple in the other. Or skipped altogether, with the hope of a home cooked meal at the end of the shift. But against all the odds stacked against them by the demands of patient care, and in defiance of any actual plans any of them had, more often than not, these five drifted into the cafeteria at the same time and ate together. The food services staff knew this sort of thing, knew it the same way that the morgue people knew when a spike in deaths was coming. They knew about it, but even they couldn't explain it. There simply was no explanation.

_Mostly empty_. Meredith scanned the few people grazing over their late lunches and smiled when she spotted Alex. From a table at the far back, he faced the parking lot and exuded "see me not" vibes that Meredith chose to ignore. He didn't even turn and glare at her as she walked up and set down her tray.

"Rough day?" She imagined it had been, his first day without having Ava in his care.

"You kidding? I don't have rough days, babe. You look like you've had better days though."

Meredith took a bite of her chicken salad sandwich. "You could call it rough, and you wouldn't be far wrong." But before she really could get started telling him (_because she needed to tell someone, anyone, and Alex was someone after all_), she realized that he had gone back inside himself and drawn the blinds.

"Alex. What's wrong? You can't fool me, you know."

He shook his head. "Callie was the wrong tap for C.R. She's got us all screwed up. Why am I not with Sloane today? I dreamed of matching with him at Columbia. Even applied, but I knew I wouldn't get it. But now he's here. And where am I? Delivering babies."

Meredith sat for a moment, wondering. _Why __had__ they all been paired for two weeks with doctors not in their chosen specialties?_ She flipped through the cardfile in her head and realized that their group wasn't alone in this. _A simple do-si-do and swing your pardner could have put Alex with Sloane in plastics, and me in neuro._ She knew that having Cristina in ortho had been a kindness, though, in case Burke had shown up. _Where did he go off to, anyway?_ Keeping Mer out of neuro was a good thing for today as well.

"Who's on call tonight?" she wondered.

"That would be you," said Cristina from behind her. "But you are trading with me, because I need to be here. And you, from what I hear, still have a McMess to clean up."

Meredith pulled her feet off of the chair to her right and kicked it out from the table so Cristina could sit down. She tucked one foot under her and drew her other knee up under her chin.

"Seriously? You're kicking me out of the hospital?"

"Seriously? You're surprised about that?"

"You don't have anyplace better to be?"

"Well, yes, Meredith, I do. But since Burke left with _both _of our tickets to the South Pacific, I'm stuck in Seattle. And since I am in Seattle, I might as well get elbow deep in someone's chest as often as possible."

"Fine." Meredith began shoveling fries into her mouth. Now that George was gone, she'd have to get into the habit of buying her own.

"Why does Barbie look like. . .Barbie?" Cristina was looking someplace behind Meredith to the left. Meredith twisted around to see Izzie walking across the cafeteria looking lost and confused. She raised her arm and waved. Izzie gave no sign that she had seen Meredith except for a slight change of direction. Then she focused, shook her head slightly and came directly over to the table.

"Um. Has anyone seen George?" The others exchanged glances.

"Izzie?" Meredith's voice was gentle. None of them needed Izzie back on the bathroom floor. "George probably is at home, since he starts at Mercy West tomorrow."

"No, he doesn't. I talked to Patricia, he's staying here. As an intern." Izzie looked up, startled, and clapped a hand to her mouth. "I probably wasn't supposed to tell you that."

Alex gave a scoffing laugh. "So, O'Malley failed the test after all. Figures."

"Yeah, because you couldn't be the only one to fail a board exam, Spawn." Cristina shook her head, and continued to eat, ignoring the glare that Meredith gave both her and her sparring partner. "So Bambi is staying here and that has you all woozy?"

"No. No, I'm not woozy, I'm good. I'm actually really good. But I need to talk to George. I have got to talk to George before he does something stupid he'll regret forever."

Meredith took Izzie's hand. "Iz, is there something I can help with?"

"No." She stopped before turning away. "Yes. If you see him, tell him not to do anything rash."

Cristina interrupted. "Tell him yourself, he's right there."

And he was. A group of interns, in the first day of their first 48 hour shift was coming into the cafeteria, looking as shell-shocked as any war veteran. In the mix were two faces that Meredith recognized. The first broke her heart; George's year seemed to have been equally traumatic as her own, but today his expression seemed more optimistic than it had been. . ._in a year, really_. And the second? The second face she recognized, from its similarity to Molly and Susan, made her breathing stop, her veins chill and ice over. _I feel like a drowning intern at an accident scene in Elliot Bay. That's how I feel. _

"I need to get this over with," Izzie murmured under her breath, and made her way through the tables toward George. Meredith looked up to see Alex and Cristina looking at her with those faces.

"What?"

"What do you mean, what? Aren't you going to talk to her?" Meredith glanced back around at Lexie for a moment. When she turned back to the table, she bent down, forcing the others to huddle close to hear her frantic whispers.

"Talk? To her? You think. . .why should I talk to her? I should talk? To her? What would I say, if I talked to her? Alex, what would you say?"

"I don't know, something like, 'hi, I'm your long lost sister, sucks your mom died but it wasn't my fault and my mom died too, let's stop the family feud' works, right?"

Cristina rolled her eyes. "Here's what you say. You tell her that you _are_ the Grey who is related to Ellis. That _you _are a freaking genius, and you won't let her ride on your coattails. That she should have backed out, gotten a different residency. That you won't do her any favors and she shouldn't expect any, that in fact since she's on _your _turf, you will expect more from her."

"You guys aren't helping, not one little bit." Meredith's eyes got squinty as she looked between the two friends, each giving advice in polar opposite to the other.

Alex glanced up, and then bent back down. "Whatever you want to say, doll face, you'd better figure it out fast. Because she's. . ."—and he got no further before their conversation was interrupted by a tentative voice.

"Meredith?"


	22. Getting Out and Moving On

**A/N: **This chapter is a little fragmented. It's mostly 2 simultaneous conversations. It's not the best one, but I'm glad that it's written. You may not agree with me, but you'll know what I'm tallking about when you finish.

**Getting Out and Moving On**

Meredith stared at Cristina and Alex, willing them to do something, anything to get her out of this situation. Hearing from Callie that her sister (_half-sister_) was here had been hard. Hearing from Derek that her sister (_half-sister_) had been the highlight of his week had been harder. Hearing from Mark that he'd kissed her sister (_half-sister, dammit, please remember, half-sister_) in Joe's made her feel a little guilty and a lot relieved. But nothing that had happened made her want to turn around and look her sister in the eye. _Half-sister. Half-sister. _

Cristina's mouth made meaningless noises for a few moments, until with a grunt she forced something out.

"Page. . .surgery. . .going. Alex? You coming? Don't you have to meet with the guy about the thing?"

Alex had been looking at Lexie with his flirt on. He started to smile, but then Cristina evidently kicked or jabbed him. He jumped.

"The thing. Right, we're taking care of that thing for the guy. Have a nice talk, Meredith!" And the two of them were out of the cafeteria before Meredith could shriek "Traitorousfriendswhorunfromhalf-sisters!" But that didn't mean she couldn't think it really, really loudly from where she was.

And then she turned around. She remembered how when she had time, she'd use one of those clay masks that were supposed to clean out her pores, a counter-intuitive claim if there had ever been one. And the fun would begin when she was walking around the house with dried mud on her face, and something happened. The phone would ring, or she'd hear something funny on the radio or television. And she'd move her face to laugh or talk. She remembered that she could feel every crack in the mud as she forced her muscles to obey the commands of her central nervous system.

That's how she felt as she smiled at her sister. _Half-sister_.

Like she was smiling through dried mud.

She stuck out her hand.

"Hi. You must be Lexie."

The girl in front of her bobbed her head, smiled and extended her hand to Meredith. Meredith took it, and was struck by its softness. Scrubbing into and out of her share of surgeries this past year had required the sacrifice of a good manicure. Dried skin was status quo, and nails were kept short. _Because popping a glove is bad, and you don't want to do that again. Mrs. Patterson is still alive, and you don't get that lucky twice._ Declaring war on ragged cuticles takes time, and that was something that her sister probably won't have much of for the next twelve months. Meredith remembered that the last time a relative had touched her, it was Thatcher's hand making sudden and sharp contact with her face.

And then Meredith realized that she'd been holding on to and shaking her sister's hand for slightly longer than normal society feels is comfortable and appropriate. Embarrassed, she let go, and rubbed her thumb across her fingers, knowing that the dried cracky skin was earned, she had earned it with her skill and reputation as a surgeon. _I am Meredith Grey._

Lexie still stood in front of her with a smile that looked a bit more forced than the one she had worn moments before.

"Um. Well, I'm surprised you'll speak to me. I mean, I drove the getaway car and everything. But I didn't know. I should have known, because he was sauced. But I didn't think, I wasn't thinking. And I drove him over here, and drove the getaway car. And I know you hate me, because I'd hate me. And I'm not really a hater. And I'm not making a good impression either, am I. Because you're my sister, and my boss, you're my boss because you're a resident. And Mom liked you. She liked you a lot. Crap. Could you say something?"

Meredith smiled. A real smile, one that showed her teeth. Maybe even a grin.

"I was waiting for you to breathe." And they both smiled, and it wasn't forced. Almost like they _were _family. "Have a seat."

"Really? Gosh, thanks, thank you. Molly said you were nice, she said she felt silly when she didn't know who you were. But when Mom and Dad went to your house, that night? For dinner? They told her. And they told me, earlier, when I matched here that you worked here. Do you hate me?"

Meredith blinked. _So this is what I would be like on speed._

"Lexie. Slow down. I need some. . .breathing room. Just sit. Be. Let me fill you in on some of the tricks of being an intern at Seattle Grace." Lexie sat in the chair Cristina had just vacated only moments (_an eternity_) before, and Meredith began to tell her sister about the tunnels, the coffee cart on the second floor and the scarcity of blackberry yogurt in the hospital cafeteria.

* * *

George had gotten the clueless group of interns to the cafeteria, but he nearly bolted when he saw Izzie heading for him, looking as intense and determined as she did leveling a cup of flour. Yes, he was her friend. Yes, they'd had sex. But there was no doubt for him that he needed to work on his relationship with Callie (_if she would_) if for no other reason than he had to look at himself twice a day while he brushed and flossed his teeth. But there were more reasons than that. He'd been stupid, yeah. But for Callie's sake, because she deserved at least that bottom line of respect from the man she married, he would try. And if she let him (_because that was still up in the air_) he wasn't going to do it any half-assed McNightmare way, making goo-goo eyes at the other woman while pretending to try. _If Callie would give him a shot, I'll go full out. Romance her. _

And those were the thoughts tumbling through as he watched Izzie snake her way through the tables. He considered running, was about to run, when the intern next to him spoke.

"That's my sister, isn't it." He glanced at Lexie, and then back at Meredith, still sitting with Alex and Cristina. Meredith was doing her best impression of The Invisible Man. He had to admit, she was awfully good at it some days.

"If I say yes, are you going to slap her like you dad did? Tell her she's not wanted?"

Lexie narrowed her eyes at him in that disturbingly familiar way. And George shifted his feet uncomfortably when he recognized the sad expression on her face.

"Sorry. Bad joke. I am an idiot."

"Do you think she'll come over to talk to me?" Lexie's voice was hopeful.

"If you wait for Meredith to begin an uncomfortable conversation, you will grow old and die. Seriously, you'll be waiting the rest of the five years she has left as a resident." George sighed, remembering the one time Meredith had chased him around the hospital when he was trying to avoid her. _I guess that was the exception to prove the rule._

Lexie nodded, and started walking, squeezing past Izzie through a narrow gap between the tables.

George had missed his chance to bolt. Izzie was standing in front of him, with that look in her eyes.

"Izzie, stop. I need—" While he spoke, she started talking, loudly, and her words bulldozed over his.

"George, no, I can't. I can't do this, I've thought about it, and I need a break." And Izzie was blinking her eyes at him, looking everywhere but at him.

"A break?" George blinked back. What did that mean?

"Susan said some things. Maybe they're true. I don't think they're true, I think she's full of it. But they keep circling my brain." Izzie's hands were restless, she kept uncrossing and crossing her arms, then rubbing her hands up and down, from shoulders to elbow.

"Um." And George really didn't know what to say to her, except maybe a thank you, thank you for finally backing off of him, even if it was a few days too late.

Izzie shifted her weight from her left to right foot, and then back again. "So, I can't do this. I can't, not now. Not with you. Or anyone."

"Okay." Because, it was, wasn't it? Wasn't it okay for him, wasn't this what he wanted? _Still sucks being on this end, I'm always on this end. Let's just be friends._

"I'm just confused. I'm confused, George. Please don't hate me."

"Izzie?" George wanted to reach out to his friend, but didn't, fearful that any contact, any touch between the two of them would telegraph a different message than the one he wanted to send. He reached his hand out, but stopped it, and it stayed in mid-air for a few moments before he took it back and put it in the pocket of his jacket.

"George, this is something I have to do." And he could see that Izzie's jaw was clenched, could see the tension at the joint. But she still wouldn't look at him.

"Izzie, please shut up for one moment." The sternness in his voice surprised him. And her too, apparently, because she did look at him then, with the brown eyes that were his problem that night. And she reached up and brushed a tear from her eye with her thumb.

"What is it, George?"

"I'm staying with Callie. If she'll have me. So we're both backing off." _It's out, it's said, it's done. We agree. _

"Oh." Izzie nodded at him, smiled a shy smile.

"So, maybe after our break. . .friends?" Now he reached out his hand again, reached it out and took hers. And they shook on it.

* * *

Meredith closed her eyes and leaned her head against her new locker. She pulled back, and leaned forward again. It wasn't so much pounding her head, more like a gentle thudding her head. Again. And again. _Thud. Thud_. She'd been stuck in post-op forever, with that child's mother. And she knew that the mom was just being a mom, worrying about her child, but still. _Thud. Thud_. 

This locker room was the same in size and layout as the one the interns shared, but this one was shared by all residents out of their intern year. Attrition, failures, dropouts and transfers made the numbers work out about right. She heard someone walk up behind her.

"You know, Grey, most people enjoy the drinking more than the hangover."

"Go away, Alex." She had finally gotten changed out of scrubs and into her civvies, but she didn't have enough. . .whatever. . .to force her limbs to move.

"You're going to have a headache like you're hungover, but without the fun. Let's go across the street." Across the street meant Joe's, and Joe's meant. . ._tequila_.

"Alex, I don't have the energy." Meredith shook her head, then thudded it (_gently_) one more time.

"C'mon, Meredith. Besides, you have to. I drove this morning, remember?" Alex jingled his keys behind her right ear.

She quit hitting her head, and rolled over on the lockers so that she was facing Alex. "What, you mean you're kidnapping me?"

"Kidnapping you, kidnapping Stevens. I'm a one-man crime spree." Alex grinned. At least half of his face did, in the smirk that reminded Meredith of the brother she never had.

"Really, now. What's the ransom? Because if it's muffins, you just need Izzie. In fact, no matter what it is, Izzie's who you want."

"We're going to toast today's successes and drown our sorrows."

"I am so in!" Izzie slammed her locker shut. "We so totally deserve this. Go us!"

Meredith and Alex exchanged confused glances at the return of Perky Izzie, when they had just seen Catatonic Izzie earlier in the day.

"Sure, Alex." Meredith relented, knowing that she would feel good relaxing with friends after tiptoeing through a minefield of a day in which every chance encounter had been a chance for an emotional explosion. _And Joe's should be fairly calm on a Sunday evening, right?_ She gave Alex a head tilt, and the three of them went over to the Emerald City Bar.


	23. Conversations in a Bar

Two men sat in the back booth of The Emerald City Bar. Two drinks, exactly the same, sat on the table: double scotch, single malt. And neither one of the men had said a word.

Mark watched Derek pick up his drink, sip it, grimace, then put it back on the table. Mark had dragged him here, told him that he didn't have a choice in the matter. But now, Mark didn't know what to say. _Or whether to say anything at all._

Because, seriously, their friendship was about 24 hours old, and if they were becoming friends again, he didn't want to wreck it. But he remembered Derek's slumped body, crushed posture and broken expression as he waited in that hallway the day of the ferry crash. He remembered the tears, the despair. _The giving up._ If Meredith dying had that effect on him, he wasn't going to stand by and watch the two of them screw up just because they didn't know how the other operated. _They don't speak the same language._

Derek tapped his fingers staccato on the glass. Mark saw that his eyebrows were drawn in, in anticipation of whatever would be said.

"Derek. I know you don't like me much. And you don't trust me. But you can trust Meredith. You just don't get her, or you would trust her."

Now Derek's eyebrows lifted in faux surprise. "Oh. And I suppose that you are Mr. Sensitivity; you are the one that really gets her."

"Yeah. Yeah, I get her." _I've known her my entire life._

Derek shook his head. "You are an ass, Mark. A complete and total ass. This time, you definitely know that she's mine."

Mark laughed. "Don't worry about me. She's yours, yes. But you don't get her. You don't know what makes her tick. You need me. I'm your Rosetta Stone."

Narrowing one eye, Derek gestured for Mark to keep going.

"I speak Shepherd, the language of a family that was relatively functional and happy. But luckily for you, I also speak the language of Grey, because it's just a dialect of Sloan, really. And we all know that Sloan is the official language of dysfunction. For you, it's so foreign, it might as well be Farsi. You don't have a clue, you can't even ask for directions to the john." Mark paused.

"What the hell are you talking about?" The frustration on Derek's face was evident to someone who had known him most of his life. And Mark had, so he slowed down, trying to choose his words carefully.

"You can either listen to me, Derek, or go it on your own. But remember when you were determined to speak French in France? And asked for directions in that café, and they sent you all around the city, when your hotel was right next door?"

Derek guffawed and flashed Mark a twist of a smile. "I still say that was just an example of French hospitality. They knew what I was saying."

"You might as well have been asking for the moon. They didn't have a clue about what you wanted, what you were saying. And neither does Grey."

Derek exhaled, blowing out his cheeks as he nodded. "I get it. You want to translate Meredith. But you forget, I speak girl. I believe you know my sisters?"

Mark smirked. "Yes. Some better than others."

"Thin ice, buddy. Thin." Derek's voice was a growl, so Mark decided to shut up about Derek's sisters.

"Derek, let's play word association. I say a word, you let it bring up whatever images it will. Here's the first word: Christmas."

"Christmas?"

"Yeah. Think about Christmas time when you were a kid. You probably get some mental image of midnight Mass and heaps of presents under the tree. Maybe a family dinner, table groaning with your mom and grandmother's best efforts. Am I right?" Mark knew he was, but waited for Derek to respond.

"Right, but that's true for most people, isn't it?" Derek was puzzled. Everyone had memories of Christmas, and his weren't any more idyllic than anyone else's.

"Not for me, not until I started spending Christmas Eve with the Shepherds. Probably not for Meredith, either." Mark tossed back the remains of his drink. "I'm going to get another. You ready or are you still working that one?"

"I'm good." Derek took another sip, and Mark went for his next drink.

* * *

"One drink, and then I have to go. Granted, I don't have any furniture to move, but checking out of a hotel after a several month stay is going to be unpleasant." 

"Right," Callie quipped. "Just think of packing the shoes." Addison laughed, and Callie thought to herself that she hadn't heard her laugh like that in a long time. _Like ever._ Then Addison looked at Callie, really looked, and looked hard. Callie lifted her eyebrows in response.

"All right, what is it?" Addison's face was concerned.

"What is what? I'm having a drink or two with my friend who is about to ditch me for the sunny skies of Los Angeles. That's not allowed?"

"Oh, that's allowed. Encouraged, even. But that's not all that's going on here. You are acting all twitchy and laughy and smiley." Still with a skeptical concerned look, Addison tasted her wine, and nodded approval.

"Twitchy, Laughy and Smiley? Are those some extra dwarves you are planning to drop off at Disneyland?" Callie's reflex was to cover any discomfort with humor. _It worked in the seventh grade, it should still work now._

But it didn't. Addison just looked at her, gave her a look that rivaled Bailey's.

"What? I can't be twitchy and smiley?" _Relax. Deep breaths._

"No, you can. But right now? You're scaring me, because the twitchy laughy smiley is about as thick as a layer of paint. And it's flaking off, and underneath is some scarey. So what is it?" Addison was like a dog with a bone, and Callie realized she wasn't giving it up anytime soon. She sighed.

"Okay. This doesn't get to take over our evening, because it just doesn't. Clear?"

"Crystal." Addison raised her glass in acknowledgement. "Do you want to put a time limit on how long you talk? Because we can do that."

"Nope." Callie shook her head. "I'll just get it out in a rush and you can time me. Ready?"

"Ready. Aaaand. . .go!" Callie started talking as Addison signaled the start.

"The past couple of days have been a high holy hell. First, I get the freaking CR job, which I'm totally unprepared for. I wanted it, I'm not an idiot, but did I think I would get it? No, I thought Bailey had it sewn up in her perfect little mattress stitch. So I'm really feeling like everyone is looking at me thinking it should be her. And I am too." She paused.

"Also, I found out that George didn't pass his intern exam. Which is completely a non-issue, because when he was trying to tell me, I thought he was trying to tell me about Stevens. So I bluffed. And won. Except I lost. I told him I knew he slept with Steven, and the idiot wasn't quick enough to deny it. No wonder he failed his boards."

Addison looked up from her watch. "It's only been 38 seconds. I'd say you qualify for more time, if you want."

"It's not that I want it. It's that I need it. George is repeating his intern year at Grace, so he's in his first 48 right now. But before I left, he tracked me down and told me he wants to work it out. Wants to stay married. That he wants me."

Addison's eyes were full of pity, and Callie hated that. "Stop. Now. Don't look at me like I'm a 13 year old patient telling you I want to keep the baby."

'What **do** you want?"

"I wanted to come in first. But I'm not there. I want to think that he really does want it to work. But I'm not sure. I'm not sure he does, but I think he thinks he should." Callie pulled her mouth to one side, making a sour face.

Addison shook her head. "That. . .really sucks, Callie."

Callie nodded. "Yeah. Yeah it does."

Addison stood up. "We're getting another round. It's not like I absolutely have to check out tomorrow, do I?"

"You're the one ditching to go start something new, you tell me!" And Callie felt more relaxed; simply sharing her trouble had made it all seem a bit easier to bear.

* * *

The bells jangled to signal three more customers for Joe; Izzie took two steps into the bar and then spun on her toes, raising her hands in victory. 

"Yay us! We made it through our first day of residency!"

She and Meredith took seats at the bar, while Alex ordered a round of beer. Joe took off the caps and served them, and the three of them clinked brown bottles together in their first toast.

"So. To our first day as residents." Alex grinned like a kid who had brought home the winning run. The three of them drank, and he licked the trace of foam from his upper lip. Then he turned on his stool to face the woman on his right.

"Now spill it, Grey, how did you get along with your long-lost sister?"

Meredith's head snapped up. She had tried to block that part of the day out. "Thanks for that. The walking away thing. Nice to know you're there for me when it matters." She glared at Alex.

"You left Mer alone with a sister? Are you insane?" Izzie's eyes had widened, and her mouth actually was open in her amazement.

"You were all zombie for George, so you don't have room to talk." Meredith leaned over to include Izzie in her glare.

"Come on, Yang dragged me off." Alex defended himself with his trademark smirk. "I gladly would have stuck around to meet Mini-Mer. Besides, you could chew her up and spit her out before she even knew what was happening. Then you could just pick your teeth with her bones." He took another long pull from his beer.

"Alex! That is disgusting, seriously." Izzie shoved him sideways on his stool. "Leave Meredith alone, she'll tell us when she's ready." Meredith laughed a little. The look on Izzie's face made clear that she was at least as interested as Alex in the sister-saga. She sighed, and gave up.

"Ok, short version, she's like I would be if I didn't have this black cloud of despair following me around everywhere." Meredith wrinkled her nose as she thought about how to describe her sister. "She's. . .nice. Happy." She nodded, and then frowned. "But she's sort of scattered all over the place. Sloppy. We'll probably never be good friends, but it's not like she's Evil Incarnate."

"So we won't be seeing a Grey versus Grey cat fight anytime soon?" The eyebrow wiggle that Alex gave made Meredith laugh and shove him back toward Izzie.

"You wish, Alex." Meredith looked down and tugged at the edge of the beer label.

"Alex, again with the grossness," Izzie said, giving a fake shocked look.

"I did have to tell her she couldn't offer to buy Derek any more drinks," Meredith stated flatly.

"What?" Both Izzie and Alex appeared truly shocked by this.

Meredith nodded. "Yeah, the night before last, at the bachelor party, she tried to pick up Derek."

"And you let her live?" Izzie was still shocked, shaking her head a little.

"It didn't thrill me. But how could she know? He was just a guy in a bar, she was just a girl. I already knew, though. I'm glad he told me. Or I'd have to kill him." Meredith looked into her beer bottle instead of at her friends, still worrying at the label of her beer.

"You knew? Is that why you broke up with him?" Izzie was still digging for the latest news on the Meredith front.

"Why I broke up with him?" Meredith's head snapped up and her eyebrows crinkled her forehead. "I didn't really break up with him. I don't think I broke up with him." She shook her forehead and said firmly, "We're in a holding pattern, sort of. Like flying in circles, waiting to land in breakup or not break up, but either way, it's not about Lexie. I don't think."

Izzie and Alex looked at each other, confused. Alex rolled his eyes, and then lifted his beer again.

"What am I thinking, here's another toast. To our fallen comrade, George."

"Please. Be nice." Meredith's eyes were sad as she looked at him.

"No, dude, I mean it. He has this perseverance thing. He gets kicked in the nads over and over and just gets up and keeps going." The bottle was still lifted, waiting for someone to clink in a toast to the O'Malley doggedness. None of them noticed that Callie was on Izzie's other side, waiting for Joe to serve up another round.

"Okay, even though you put it in filthy dirty Evil Spawn words, I think you're right. He's going to make it." Izzie lifted up her bottle and clinked with Alex.

"He damn sure is trying. You've got to respect that. I wanted to give up when I failed my practicals. You guys wouldn't let me. He's got a good thing with Dr. Mrs. O'Malley. And they're making it." And Meredith nodded, raised her bottle, and the three of them drank to George.

Callie stood there, almost as if she wanted to say something to the three of them. Then she shook her head, and took the new drinks back to her booth.

* * *

When Derek heard Meredith's laugh from across the bar, his head snapped up and he started to leave the booth. To Mark, it looked like some sort of magnetic force compelled him to track the girl down. He reached out and grabbed Derek's arm. 

"Wait."

Derek looked at him angrily. "What do you mean, wait? Why the hell should I wait? We're supposed to talk tonight."

Mark shook his head. "Derek, she's relaxed. She's had a rough day, a rough week. Let her relax a little bit longer. She didn't laugh once today." Derek's face grew sad, and he turned in his seat to catch a glimpse of Meredith.

"She's scared, Derek."

That got his attention. He whipped his head around to face Mark.

"Why the hell is she scared of me? I would never do anything to hurt her. Not intentionally."

"No. Not intentionally, you wouldn't. But you're both hurt right now, and easing up a little can only do you good. She just got here. There's lots of time for us to talk."

Derek sighed as he lifted his glass. He took a long swallow of scotch, and then asked, "What should we talk about?"

"Let's talk about why you turned down being Chief."

* * *

When Callie got back to the booth, she flopped down across from Addison. She took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly, making a rather rude noise as she did so. Then she giggled. 

"Am I horrible if I don't take him back? He's a good person, and I should take him back, but if I don't want to, does that make me horrible?" The giggles had stopped, and she was looking at Addison for absolution, something that Addison believed that she had no business giving to anyone.

"It doesn't make you horrible," Addison said slowly, "but it does make me wonder why you married him such a short time ago."

"Sometimes I wonder that myself." Callie was playing with the salt shaker, sliding it from one hand to another. She gave it a slightly-too-hard push, and it toppled over, spilling some grains. Predictably, Callie leaned forward and touched a few to her finger. Then she stopped.

"I can't remember. Do I toss this over my left shoulder with my right hand, or right shoulder with left? Do you remember?" Callie looked more distressed over this question than she did over forgiving her adulterous husband.

Addison snorted. "Why is it that surgeons are as superstitious as any old wife could be? Not that we're old wives, of course."

"Addison, why are you leaving?" Callie was dead serious now. "You're finally making a home here. Well not a home, because you're still staying at the Archfield. But you have friends. You have people who care. And you're tossing it out the window. Why?"

"I need to get away from this place. I need to go somewhere I'm not known as the Wicked Witch of the East, where people don't hate me because I ruined the romance of the century." Addison stopped, rolled her eyes and took a sip of her wine, then used the glass to gesture. "I deserve to be loved or hated on my own terms. Not because I'm the former Mrs. McDreamy or the former mistress of McSteamy."

"So this doesn't have anything to do with you sending Karev after Ava?" Callie asked slyly, raising her eyebrow.

"How did you know about that?" Addison demanded.

"I am Callie the All Knowing." The stare that Callie gave back with that statement was. . .unusual, Addison decided. She stared back, until she lost that battle and went back to destroying the cocktail napkin that came with her wine.

"I just thought he deserved to be with someone carrying less baggage. Because that's all I have, baggage." She looked back at Callie, grateful that her friend had lost the odd look.

"You know, Addison, there are different ways of looking at baggage. You've got some people, and their baggage is dead weight around their necks; they spend their lives looking after it. And then other people, they cram their baggage full of souvenirs, until the bags overflow with what's best from where they've been. Their bags are just as full, but they look at them as a gift." Callie stopped talking, and looked slightly confused at her own words. Addison looked at her, raising one eyebrow.

"Holy shit, do I sound like a Blue Mountain greeting card or what?" Callie's laughter was bubbling through her words.

"Was that more of Callie the All Knowing?" Addison looked skeptical.

"Come on, you have to admit, that was pretty profound. In a Dr. Phil sort of way, at least." Then they both lost it, laughing loudly enough that the rest of the bar could hear them.

* * *

Derek sat for a few moments, spinning his glass. "Why did I turn down the position of chief." His voice was quiet, murmuring. He looked up at Mark, a half-smile on his face. 

"You know the joke about the most important thing in comedy?"

Mark shook his head. "No, I don't. Drunk after a drink and a half?"

Shaking his head, Derek asked, "No. I'm not drunk. And how did you find out that I had turned down chief?"

"I may have only been here a few short months, but I do have friends in this hospital. Who gossip." Mark's smirk faded. "So tell me, what's the most impor—"

"Timing," Derek interrupted. Mark laughed, getting the joke as Derek continued, "Timing is the most important thing in comedy. The timing right now sucks."

Mark looked at him, confused. "What's going on now that won't be going on in a couple of months?"

"I don't know. This is just. . .hard. Harder than I thought it would be." Derek leaned back in the booth and looked at the ceiling.

"Derek, you may possibly be the laziest person in love I've ever met." Mark said. "That's why I don't do relationships, because they aren't easy." He finished off the last sips of his drink, then pushed the empty over to Derek. "This round's on you."

Derek pushed it back. "You're the one who said we had to come out here. Go get us another round." Mark smirked, but headed back to the bar.

* * *

The three former interns sat at the bar, exchanging toasts and lighthearted insults. As they talked one over the other, they laughed frequently and loudly. Only a keen observer who knew each of them well would notice they weren't really happy. The two people who fit that description were both back at the hospital, ignoring their own troubles to take care of patients. Mark eyed them as he approached the bar; he knew Meredith and could sense her misery, but the other two were a mystery to him. He stood beside the blonde doctor-model, and waited for Joe to finish pouring the next round of scotch. 

He nodded. "Stevens."

"Dr. Sloan."

Mark was ignoring her. That's what he'd been doing all night long, ignoring her. No, ignoring her implied that he'd noticed her. And he never had noticed her, not when she had her hand on his patient's pec (_and the other on that asshole Karev's, what the hell was that about anyway?_), not when she refused to fold under his crap and be a suck-up, and not when she had drilled a hole in some guys brain using a Sears Craftsman drill, like she was some kind of hero. _No, she's not even a blip on my radar_.

He was just glad to know that Derek had his back to the bar. Shep didn't need to see Grey or be applying the pressure right now. Because really, Grey was looking pretty nice tonight, though obviously miserable.

_Like Stevens_. He wasn't wondering why Stevens would be looking miserable, no he wasn't. Because that would mean he had noticed. And he wasn't sure what he would do if he had noticed. Because he had a weakness, a weakness for women with sad brown eyes.

He chalked it up to the next door neighbors' beagle that he used to take care of when they went on vacation. _Damn dog could get under my skin like nothing else._

* * *

_Where the hell is Mark with my drink?_ Derek knew he didn't need another, didn't really want another. In his current mood, too much alcohol was a dark pit, just waiting for him to stumble. He turned around to tell Mark not to bother. But Mark was walking away from the bar, to the booths on the other side. Derek saw him approach Addison, who was laughing it up, grabbing her purse and scooting out of the booth she shared with Callie. 

And then he saw her.

Deep purple sweater. Her hair catching the lights from the bar. A melancholy smile curving the beauty of her lips. His Meredith. Their eyes met, and he got up from the bar to go talk to her. To reassure her. To tell her that he didn't want to be another thing on her list, another problem for her to solve. This problem was theirs to solve together. She could want to run; she probably would run. Hell, he'd probably want to run a time or two himself. But if what had already happened between them this year hadn't driven them apart, they could figure this out. _Can't we?_

_If we can't, then there's really no such thing as soulmates. _

He walked up to her, smiling. And practically grinning when she smiled back.

"Hey. You look. . .nice." She ducked her head and smiled at the compliment.

"Thanks." She glanced over at Alex and Izzie, who were watching Mark and Addison have some sort of discussion. "Do you know what's going on over there? That's kind of intense."

Derek shook his head. "I haven't a clue. Addison has been making noises about leaving the hospital. That's why I was at the trailer this morning, I drove out there to look for her CV."

* * *

"Ladies, are you leaving before I have the chance to buy you a drink?" Mark loaded his question with naughty intent, and gave them a lopsided grin. Callie rolled her eyes, but looked at Addison to respon 

When she did, her voice was soft. "Mark, I didn't really get a chance to talk to you all day." She and Callie exchanged glances, and Callie nodded.

"I'll just," Callie pointed to the bar, "I'm waiting over there." Then, as she saw who was over there, she amended, "or in the car."

Addison nodded again and whispered her thanks. Then she looked back up to Mark.

"Remember the trip I made to L.A. a week ago?" Her voice gently caressed Mark's ear and promised to be kind. "I'm going back down there in the morning."

"They need another consult from you? How long will this one take?" Mark cocked an eyebrow at her. _What is she running from this time?_

"No, Mark," she answered. "I'm moving. Actually checking out of the hotel room and driving down. I might just do something wild and crazy like buy a house, rent an apartment. Discover some stability."

"Wait a minute." Mark grabbed her upper arm tightly. "You're leaving Seattle Grace? And what, if I hadn't come over here tonight, how were you planning on telling me? Sending me an e-mail?" His tone was vicious, and he knew that she didn't deal well with anger. But. . .he wasn't. Not really. Hurt, yeah, disappointed, yeah. _But there's no newsflash here. Just a reminder, you're still not what she wants._

"Mark, I wanted to tell you. And it wouldn't be an e-mail. As soon as I get settled, you can. . .well, come visit. As a friend." The two of them were walking to the door of the bar. The doctors sitting at the bar were all looking at them questioningly.

"You told Derek?" Mark's voice was gruff.

Addison sighed and closed her eyes. "No. Don't you think we've said all the goodbyes we need to say, me and Derek?"

"No," answered Mark, and gestured for Derek to join them, waited a moment for him to get near. "Tell him, Addison."

"Tell him what?" asked Derek.

"Tell you I'm leaving. That's why I needed my CV this morning, because I've put in my resignation and I'm leaving Seattle Grace."

"You're joining Naomi and Sam's practice, right?" guessed Derek.

Addison smiled and nodded. Derek reached out and gave his ex-wife a hug. "Tell them I said hello. And if you're feeling very generous, I'll come down and visit."

Addison laughed. "I'll have to be feeling _very_ generous. Although stranger things have happened, Derek." She turned around and looked at the Emerald City Bar, scene of so many troubles for her in the last year. "No offense, Joe," she called out. "But I won't miss this place. You, I'll miss. But not your bar."

Joe saluted her with a newly-opened bottle. "Thanks for my babies, Dr. Montgomery. And you'd better come back to visit."

She turned and smiled at both Derek and Mark. "Goodbye, guys." Derek bussed her cheek, then returned to Meredith at the bar. Mark watched him go, and then turned back to Addison.

"You and Karev. What did he do to you that you want to go?" he asked, voice tight. Although he knew there was no more hope for him and Addison, (_and was actually somewhat relieved by that_), the thought that another man had touched her, much less hurt her, wounded him.

_A lot._

Addison lost her smile for a moment, and then pasted it back on. "Mark, there never was a me and Karev. I don't know what you. . .or maybe I do. But there never was anything real. I was. . ." she thought for a moment, then continued. "I was wrong. It didn't really exist."

She brushed a kiss against his cheek, pulled from his arms, and left. Mark stood in the entry to the bar, listening to bells jangling as the door shut behind her.

Mark tried to calm himself. Addison was a grown woman, she could make all of her own decisions. Except she wasn't. She couldn't. She'd been as wounded as any of them this past year, maybe more than he had been. And Karev had obviously taken advantage of that, thought he'd rack up an easy score.

Mark turned and moved to the bar in two strides, seeking out Alex Karev. He stood, seething, until the younger man spoke.

"Can I help you, Dr. Sloan?" Alex took a sip of his beer, but focused his eyes on the attending.

"Can you help me? Can **you** help **me**?" Mark's anger was forced out of him in a growl. "Yeah, you can help me. You can go find Addison Montgomery and fix it."

Alex's eyebrows wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "Fix it?"

"You hurt her. I don't know what went on between the two of you in that supply closet, and I don't care to know. But you need to fix it. Fast. She's leaving, so you're on a time crunch."

Alex shook his head. "I didn't hurt her," he said, not meeting Mark's eyes. "I saved her. She doesn't need someone like me."

_Seriously? Could he be more idiotic?_

Mark inhaled through his nose and slowly exhaled, wanting to find his happy place. Then he swung his arm around Alex's neck and walked with him across the bar. His tone was firm, but somehow friendly.

"Karev. Get your ass over to her hotel. Talk to her. And fix it. If you can't figure out what you did wrong, drop a pair, and ask." Mark finished escorting Alex to the door, and gave him a gentle shove outside. He had turned back to face the bar when Alex poked his head back in.

"Someone's going to have to get those two home, because I'm their driver. And neither Shepherd nor Sloan better be at my house when I get there!" Alex's tone wasn't quite as confident as he probably wanted, and Mark grinned before turning back around.

"Karev! A boy shouldn't worry about what the men do. Now move!" Alex glared, but moved. Meredith and Izzie giggled at each other, surprised that their friend would let himself be bossed around so easily.

"What?" asked Mark innocently. "I just made him do what he wanted to do all along. He's been moping all night."

Izzie continued to giggle as Mark came to join them at the bar. She leaned over and whispered to Meredith, "Now that? Was well worth the price of admission. Who would have ever thought that Alex would make a play for the gynie patrol!"

Meredith crinkled her nose and whispered back, "You'd think they would realize that Mark's like the Obi-Wan to Alex's Anakin."

Izzie considered that for a moment, and then snorted. "Does that mean Mark just pushed Alex into the volcano?" The two of them laughed until they snorted and wiped away tears at that characterization of Addison, then Izzie finished off her beer. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Mark. He was looking right at her, taking his time as he walked to the bar. He stood next to her, leaned back and grinned.

"How about I buy you another drink, Stevens?"

Izzie's laugh sounded startlingly bitter, even to her own ears.

"Don't go there, Sloan. You don't want to go there."

"What?" he asked, again assuming his innocent posture. "I'm just trying to make a new friend, is there anything wrong with being friendly?"

Izzie put on her meanest look. And while she knew she was no Cristina Yang, she hadn't been the weakest link growing up in the Canterbury Fields trailer park. She could do mean. She didn't like to do mean, but like her grandmother used to say, _needs must when the devil drives._

_And there was nothing angelic about Mark Sloan._

"The only thing wrong with being friendly with me, Dr. Sloan, is that just today I got the professional opinion that whenever I get to be your kind of friends with a man, I end up believing that I'm in love with him. You ready for that ride?"

She had everyone's attention. _Crap. _The couple drinking down the bar looked curiously at her, while the three nurses in the nearest booth had just skipped curious and were laughing their asses off. _Dammit._ That wasn't planned. She just wanted to scare off Sloan, so he'd leave her alone. She didn't need to deal with his crap today. _Or tomorrow. _She glanced over at Meredith who looked sympathetic. Back at Mark, who—stunningly enough—also looked sympathetic._ But no longer on the hunt. Success._

Derek shifted on his feet, and his voice filled the silence. "Since you two are here without a car, why don't you let me drive you home? That way we can talk." And even Izzie could tell the message his eyes telegraphed to Meredith meant the conversation would not be put off.

* * *

Meredith walked outside with Derek and Izzie, as Mark took a seat at the bar, good-naturedly debating Joe on the merits of Interleague Play. Or maybe not so good-naturedly, as his comments about pitchers who didn't hit weren't playing real baseball became intensely vehement. The door closed behind them before they could hear Joe's defense of the American League. 

Meredith smiled, remembering the ferocity of East Coast baseball fan, and looked up at Derek. "Mets fan?"

Derek shook his head, a perplexed look on his face. "No. Yankees. Die-hard. Which means he's just picking this fight with Joe."

Meredith shook her head. She liked Mark. She couldn't help but like someone so much like herself_. But his need to compete over everything really has to stop. _Only a few months ago, he had been telling her to forget about Derek. That he was damaged, that Derek was a poisoned well. _And Derek made jokes about being dull and lifeless with me, when we were taking it slow. How is __**he**__ dull and lifeless?_

The sound of his car locks popping up interrupted her thoughts, and she smiled at Derek as he opened the passenger side door for her. Their eyes met. _His eyes are sad. I make him miserable._ Her right hand twitched; she wanted to slide her finger along his cheekbone, caress his jaw, bring a thumb alongside his mouth. But she knew—touching him would lead to never letting go.

She probably should let him go.

_But I need him. So far. . .it isn't enough. We've just had moments, and it isn't enough._

Breaking the tension between them, she slid into the passenger seat and pulled the seatbelt across her body. Derek moved some old journals and texts around in the back seat to make room for Izzie before circling the car and getting in himself. When he shifted into reverse, he turned his whole body to look behind them, draping his arm behind Meredith as he did so. And his casual touch gently reminded her of what they could have, of easier times. _Dammit._ He was right, they needed to talk. But this conversation had been put off for so long—almost a year really, because they were about to discuss The Rules the night Addison showed up, all polished and sharp-edged. If they'd had the conversation then, they might not be having it now. A lot of things might have been different. This conversation. . .it was important. It was their whole relationship, sink or swim, do or die, have or have not. To be or not to be. All of it, the essence of her year of loving Derek, could be boiled down and concentrated to this. A conversation.

And she couldn't talk. She had no words. She didn't have the words, she didn't have the breath, she didn't have the tools that it would take to have this conversation.

Derek pulled up on his parking brake and turned off the engine. Izzie poked her face up between the front seats.

"Thanks for the ride, Derek. I'm going on in." Derek nodded, and Meredith watched her friend walk up the front steps.

She licked her dry lips. Swallowed. Looked at him. _Oh, God. I can't think when he is looking at me._

And he was looking right back at her, with the eyes. And the hair, his hair was begging for her fingers to run through it. And his smile, soft smile, soft lips. Waiting.

"Mer? Let's get out of the car."

* * *

Derek watched her graceful movements as she turned to open her door. He sat for another moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose, before pulling the key out of the ignition and opening his own door. He followed her up the slight hill to the porch, seeing the tension in her movements. The porch light was off, and even though a light filtered through from the back of the house, his sight of her was limited to silhouette. The wooden porch steps creaked under his feet. 

"Meredith. Come sit down." He gestured to the porch swing. _Come on, Meredith. Come on. Talk to me. I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere until we talk, until we figure this out._ She sat down and brought one knee to her chest, folding her arms and resting her chin on top. Her hair fell forward, escaping from behind her ears to hide her face. As she settled into place, her other toe kicked off of the ground and the swing moved. _Really moved. _ He'd been meaning to look at it, see if all it needed was a good cleaning, but had never gotten around to it. He'd pictured them sitting there on autumn evenings, talking. He'd never pictured them sitting there on a summer night, him scared dry that she really did mean what she said last night to him.

"You're swinging." His voice sounded off to him, sounded hoarse.

"Yeah," Meredith answered. "I'm swinging. My dad fixed it that night after dinner. But he didn't fix it, because it wasn't broken. He had put a nail in it, to keep it from swinging before, when I was little, because I used to get my fingers pinched."

"You used to get your fingers pinched." Derek echoed.

"Yeah, and when he said it, I remembered it, I think I did at least. I'd poke my fingers in to push the swing from the side, and really get hurt. So the nail was there to protect me, but we didn't realize that, so we couldn't use the swing. Until now." She looked up at him, brushing her hair back, away from her face. He realized that she'd been crying. "He pulled out the nail. So we can use the swing."

Derek sat down next to her, taking her into his arms. She leaned against him, warm against his body. His foot flat against the floor, he pushed the swing back and let it go. They sat, swinging.

"Derek?" Her voice, muffled against his shirt, broke his heart. He pushed her chin up gently with two fingers until she was looking at him. Or would be, if her eyes weren't looking down. At least her mouth was clear of his shirt so her words would be clear. He waited.

She still didn't lift her eyes, but his fingers kept her chin in place. He could feel her breathing, feel as she gathered her courage, feel as she found words to say, feel her find the strength to say them.

"I'm scared." With those two words, she blew him away. Because for her, admitting she was scared, admitting a weakness, admitting her fear—those things added up to a huge hole in her armor. And she was saying it to him.

_She's letting me in._

"You're scared," he echoed.

"I don't know how to work this." She still wouldn't look at him, but that was fine. She was talking.

"You don't know how to work this. The swing?" He was joking, and knew as soon as the words left his mouth that it could stop her, was terrified that it would. But all she did was swat him and give an almost-giggle.

"No, asshole. I can swing. It's the relationship. I don't know how to work the relationship." She sighed. "It's hard. I didn't think it was supposed to be this hard."

"It is hard," he agreed. "It's been hard for both of us."

He nudged the porch floor again to keep the swing going.

"I didn't get the book on this. The handbook, the relationship instruction manual. I don't know how to do it, and I've been trying." Her voice gained intensity, and her eyes finally met his. "Derek, please believe me. I have been trying."

And even if he didn't know, hadn't been reminded how hard her week was, the honesty in her face and voice would have convinced him.

"You have." And he nodded.

He could tell she was about to come out with something else. Something big. Could tell from the way she would take a breath, start to let it out, catch it, and then blow it out. Could tell from the way she was pursing her lips.

So he waited.

And again, she gathered her courage up around her, put it on, looked away from his eyes.

"DerekIwantyoutocomewithmetomorrow." Again, her breath all rushed from her in a whoosh.

"You want me to come. . .where?"

"To see Susan. Burson. With me. Together. To help us." He could tell how hard this was, and that it was getting harder, as her jaw clenched tighter and her eyes filled, blinking faster to keep the tears from falling.

_Couple's therapy. Are we still a couple? Is that what she's saying?_ He didn't like the idea of couple's therapy, hadn't seen success when he'd gone with Addison. . .but this was Meredith. And yes, it was hard.

But she was worth it.

"What time?" His throat seemed to be blocked, but he coughed and repeated the words. "What time is your appointment?"

And now she looked at him, unsure of his answer but wanting to hope. "It's at one, right after lunch."

He nodded.

"I'll be there." And she smiled.

"You'll be there."

They sat together. Swinging. He realized that she had fallen asleep, but when he started to move her to put her to bed, she woke enough to tell him goodnight and let herself inside. Without a kiss, but as he thought on the drive home, he became convinced that she had wanted one. But it was hard. And she was scared.

_And so am I._


	24. Rainy Night

** A/N**: Sorry this took so long to get up. Real life has been being real. And life. Did you ever imagine when you were little that being a grown-up was basically crisis management? It wasn't part of my vision for the future, let me tell you. My baby brother is getting married tomorrow. (He's 37 and towers over me, but he's still my baby brother.) Thanks for reading and updating your own stories more often than I do.

* * *

Alex walked the 26 steps from the front doors to the elevators. He turned right, and walked the 18 steps to the unattended coffee cart. Another right, 20 steps and he was at the entrance to the hotel bar. Right again, three steps, then a left as he took the eight steps past the concierge desk back to the front door. _Pacing is good. I need to pace._

Almost an hour had passed since Sloan strong-armed him out of Joe's, and most of that time had been spent here, wearing a path through the lobby of a hotel he'd never set foot in, had never planned to. Getting the hairy eyeball from the night concierge. Checking his watch to show that yes, he was waiting on someone who was staying at the hotel.

For the record, he hated Mark Sloan. Hated everything to do with the doctor; hated plastics, hated Manhattan, hated bone-dry cappuccinos. Hated Addison Montgomery. _Almost_.

Because he was only here, measuring the lobby of the elegant Archfield Hotel with his steps as the snot-nosed staff watched, because of Dr. Mark Sloan. To think that he used to worship the guy. Of course that was before he met him. But tonight Dr. Sloan had pushed him here, and here was where Alex was feeling like nine kinds of an idiot. _What does he want me to do? Become someone I'm not? Put on an act? Be the guy who barbecues?_

As soon as he hit the doors of the elegant Archfield Hotel, a hotel where a night's stay in a suite would almost equal a month's salary, where he would never be able to eat in any of the four restaurants (not counting the café), where he suspected that the bar served only imported beers, where he was currently stuck in the lobby. . .as soon as he hit the doors, he knew for sure that he was screwed.

He didn't know Addison's room number.

He should have asked Sloan, should have asked him on the way out of Joe's. But honestly, the thought hadn't occurred to him. When someone yells at you to do something you've been trying to keep yourself from doing, when they openly take the heat for getting you to do that thing you've been telling yourself you couldn't do because you wouldn't live it down, when they poke you on the shoulder, on the same shoulder that the little devil has been poking (or the haloed angel, because—face it—he wasn't sure which little cartoon would have been encouraging this meeting with Montgomery) you don't stop and ask questions. And then, when that same guy practically accuses you of not having balls? You man up and do it. Whatever it is. You don't ask questions.

_Don't think twice_.

And yeah, he was sure that he could call Joe's, and talk to Sloan and get her room number, because Sloan's sure to know it, but Alex doesn't want to think about Sloan and Addison, he was jumping right the hell off of that train of thought. He didn't want to go there, to let the images of Sloan and Addison and hotel rooms and suites assemble themselves into a picture. He wouldn't call Sloan to find out. He'd stay here, pacing the lobby, until someone he knew walked through those doors. Because, for chrissake, half the hospital was able to afford rooms here. Just not him.

Alex walked down to the glass lobby doors and stared outside into the rain. He liked Addison. Respected her. Was attracted to her. _God knows she can work a pen better than anyone._ But he wasn't prepared for the possibilities that she opened up, wasn't ready to think further ahead than next weekend. _But yeah. Fix it. _Because in his haste to shut things down with her, he'd become one of them. One of the guys who hurt her. Like Sloan. And Shepherd. He'd fix it.

All he needed right now was a room number.

* * *

George pulled out the guide wire and tossed it into the tray. "Okay, now? We attach the IV tube to the line like so, I'll suture it in place and add a dressing, then he goes up for a chest x-ray to make sure there's no pneumo- or hemo-thorax. Does that make sense?" 

Lexie nodded, relieved that George had been able to show her the central line. Her other alternative had been to wake The Nazi. Not something she wanted to do her first shift. As she watched George take the stitches to secure tubing, she asked the question that had been buzzing around her head since lunch.

"What does Meredith say about me and Molly? Does she talk about us?"

His head jerked up at her as he finished up one stitch. "Sometimes you'll need a second stitch. I think we do here. She didn't know about you guys until your niece was born."

"Really? Wow." Lexie chewed on her bottom lip. "I mean, we've known about her. That Dad was married before. That she existed."

"I don't think she'd talked to your dad since her mom left." George knotted the second stitch.

"He hates me going surgical. Especially here, not just because of Mom, but Ellis." Lexie ripped the tape and readied the bandage. "I didn't tell him, because of the Ellis thing, not until after Mom died. But Grace was my first choice."

George stuck out his hand for the bandage. "Grace is a good program. It's tough, and it's easy to get distracted."

"Is that what happened to you?" asked Lexie. _Dammit. Not what you want to ask someone who is practically carrying you through your first day._ "Never mind. So not my business. And I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay." She could tell he was giving her question thought. "My dad died. I got married, and I'm not sure I'm not about to get divorced. I think distracted would be an understatement."

"Okay, so I'm noting that down as well. Don't get into serious relationships during your internship. I can't help the dead parent thing, because. . .well, Mom just died. I keep wanting to pick up the phone and talk to her, tell her things." She held out another strip of surgical tape.

George nodded. "I wasn't close to my dad, I felt like he thought I was not enough of a guy. You know, I was the token brain in the family, I did the Dungeons and Dragons thing. Science Olympiad. Certamen, that Latin thing. You can't tailgate for that, you know? He wanted someone to talk cars with. And my brothers did that. But there are times I do have something to share with him, and when I remember he's dead, it's like he just died all over again."

"Molly was Mom's kid." Lexie leaned forward to smooth out an invisible wrinkle in the dressing, and the two of them pulled the patient out of the room heading for the x-ray Lab. "I was Dad's. Until I told him I was coming here. The afternoon of the funeral, he kicked me out."

"Wow," George said quietly.

"Yeah. See, I've always been fascinated with Ellis Gray. Growing up in Seattle, she was always one of the people we talked about in Women's History Month, you know."

George shook his head. "Not me. I didn't realize the whole Grey Method connection until I started my residency. But, you know, public school."

"Oh. Well, he told me that I wasn't his daughter any more, not when I wouldn't try to transfer my residency over to Mercy West. He'd already called them, and he was convincing me to go with the opening they had. For pediatrics." Lexie shook her head.

"Wait. . .your dad ditched two daughters in one day?" George stopped pushing the gurney and was looking at Lexie.

"Yeah. I couldn't believe what he did when Molly told me. He said he had to settle an account here." Lexie started moving the patient again, headed to the elevators. "I guess he did."

The silence between the two of them stretched as they entered the elevator and George pushed the button. Lexie fidgeted, trying to think of a better topic than families that didn't really exist any more. _Hospital gossip. That's good._

"Wow, so Meredith is dating Dr. Shepherd, huh?"

George laughed. "That's. . .complicated. This elevator trip is too short for that story." They got to their floor and rolled the patient over the metal flooring strips. George's phone rang as they continued down the hall. He flipped it open, and Lexie thought that he looked a little confused when he saw the caller's name. He didn't turn away from her or anything, they just stood in the hallway with their sleeping patient as he talked.

"Um. Hello?"

"Seriously, how would I know that?"

"At the Archfield?"

"Oh. Really? Los Angeles? Why?"

"Okay, calm down. Let me think. 22-something. I think 2215? Or 2217?" George rolled his eyes at Lexie, and she could tell he thought the person at the other end was a bit over-excited.

"Well, if it's neither of those, call me back and I'll call her. No, I won't call her now, she's barely talking to me."

"Alex, shut up, I just did you a favor. Don't call me that."

He flipped his phone closed again and stared at it for a second, shaking his head. "Lexie? Remember what you said about relationships?"

"Yes?" She waited.

George shook his head. "Strange things are happening tonight. Strange things. Bad, scary, strange things." He clipped the phone back onto his waistband, and they continued down the hall to X-Ray, as George continued to mutter under his breath about not wanting to know about things that were strange, bad and scary.

* * *

"Here we go." Addison pulled another stack of clear plastic bins out of the closet. "I think this is the last of them."

Callie looked at the photographs taped to the lids and picked up a bin. "Seriously, Addison, this pair is just like that other red one. You have two of the same shoes. Four, actually, four of the same shoe."

Addison popped the lid and peered inside. "Huh. I knew they looked familiar." She looked at the shoes and up at Callie. "What size do you wear?"

"What?" Callie's eyebrows drew together in expressive confusion. "I won't wear those things. If you see any Chucks in there, size eight and a half, let me know. Keep your stilts."

"Really? These should fit, they're nines, but let's see." Addison pulled out the Manolos and danced them at her friend. "Pretty, pretty. Every girl needs a pair of heels like this, no?"

"Fine. I'll try them on. And I don't know who is going to set my bones when I fall and break my ass, but that won't be my problem. I'll be on morphine." Callie stood up, kicked off her sneakers then pulled her socks off with her toes. She moved to stand in front of the full-length mirror as she balanced on one leg to put a shoe on the other foot.

"Holy Crap." She put her foot down, then picked it right back up. "I don't even want to think about what these things are doing to my back and feet." She didn't even try balancing to put on the second shoe, but leaned back against the bathroom counter.

Addison walked back to the closet and pulled out more clothes. "I've been living in this hotel for not even six months, and I have things in this closet I don't even remember." Callie kicked off the first shoe, having given up on the second, and wandered back to the stack of clothes. Addison picked up something and held it out for identification.

"Oh."

They both recognized it. Addison turned to Callie with a grin. "You want it? I mean, you should have some souvenir, to put in your baggage. Other than the self-loathing tinged with guilt."

"No, thanks. I'd just as soon. . .wait. . ." Callie reached out and touched the shirt. "That's really soft cotton. You think I could maybe pour hot chocolate on it to rinse out the McSteamy vibes?"

Addison laughed, and tossed the shirt to Callie. "There. Now try those shoes on and let's see you work your stuff."

Callie groaned and put the first shoe back on, then sat down to attempt the second shoe. She was attempting to stand up when someone knocked at the door. She looked at Addison, who looked back at her with the same question.

Addison walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. She shook her head and looked at Callie.

"It's Karev!" she hissed over to Callie, whose classic double-take would be at home in a vaudeville routine.

"Karev? Your little intern? And. . .does he have those lines of deliciousness coming off of him?" Callie over-emphasized each syllable of _deliciousness_ by rolling her tongue across her teeth, wiggling her eyebrows in lustful exaggeration. At Addison's eye-roll, she settled down to ask, "Seriously, what's he doing here?"

"I don't know what he's doing here, he essentially avoided me all day. We hardly said two civil words to each other, he told me he didn't want to talk about anything but medicine." She looked out the peephole again, and then back at Callie, who started shaking her head as she backed toward the bathroom.

"Okay, well, he wants something else now." She retrieved her shoes. "I'll just be. . ." she pointed behind her, "and give me that shirt!" She grabbed the shirt in mid-air and disappeared, closing the bathroom door quietly.

Addison stood at the door. She cleared her throat and smoothed down her hair, giving a mental frown to her current outfit._ Okay, so they were _belle grey_ drawstring pants, but really? When you get down to it, sweatpants were sweatpants._ And she was very aware of the hanger wrinkles in the shirt she had pulled out of the back of her closet. _And why do I care? It's not like I'm his girlfriend._ She felt the flame of embarrassment that accompanied that memory, and wished for the protection of an outfit worth more than the paycheck the man on the other side of the door brought home. She took a deep breath, and opened the door.

"Alex. What are you doing here?" she asked coolly.

_Excellent question,_ thought Alex. _If only I knew the answer._ He stood in front of her, with her question rattling around his brain, looking at the carpet. Finally dragging his gaze to her eyes, he found a response.

"Can I come in?"

She wordlessly opened the door further, gesturing him into the room. He came in and ended up at the desk chair. He looked around the room, then at his hands.

"So. I suck. And you hate me."

She nodded. "You do. And I do. Kind of."

"But we don't get unlimited chances." Alex was rubbing his palms together, managed to concentrate enough to stop. _Stop. The nerves have got to stop. _He pulled his hands apart for a moment, then started picking his cuticles.

"Stop that." She reached out and pushed his hands apart. "You'll make them bleed and then scrubbing in anywhere tomorrow will be painful."

"Yeah. You're a good teacher, you know." He managed to look at her with this, look at her eyes, eyes that were the color of Elliot Bay on the rarest of clear, beautiful days in Seattle. "I don't hate the gynie squad any more."

"You don't?" She sounded surprised.

"I should. I should hate it, because I've always wanted plastics. And Sloane is one of the greats. But he doesn't teach. You teach." His hands were now on his jeans, pressing down onto his thighs. _Concentrate on keeping them there, Karev._ "You teach, and you want people to learn. I'll miss that."

"You'll miss my _teaching_?" And again, the fangs of remembered pain pierced her heart.

Alex sighed, dragging a hand down his face before sticking it back on his leg. "Look. You're a good person. You're a great teacher. You're a great doctor. And you're an incredibly attractive woman. But what you're looking for, right now, I don't have. So hate me. Tell me I suck. It's nothing I haven't heard already. I even agree."

Addison stood up. "Is that all you wanted to say?" Alex looked at her, then stood as well.

"Yeah. I'm done. Except one more thing." He paused and looked at her. "I don't plan on sucking forever." And without another pause to talk himself out of it, he grabbed her and kissed her hard, holding her face in his hands. And when he felt her relax into the kiss, into him, he relaxed as well, softening, stroking her hair. Broke the embrace, kissed her forehead, and looked into her eyes.

"Good luck in Los Angeles." With a chuck to her chin, he was gone, and the door slammed behind him, a signal to Callie that all was clear. She exited the bathroom and saw Addison, motionless in front of the closed door.

"What was that?" she asked.

"I think?" said Addison, moving her hand from lips to forehead, "I think it was a rain-check?"


	25. Meetings

**A/N:** Apologies for the length of time it has taken to get this up. My brother was married (sorry, ladies), and then some local politics happened, which I needed to get involved in lest injustice prevail. I've already started working on the next bit, and I hope it won't take so long.

Also, if you've noticed an improvement in quality over the last several chapters, thank my new beta who gets out her fine-toothed comb and makes me defend everything I do. If the little things have gotten better, thank Sarah (sarsunshine). If there's no change, blame me.

* * *

Cristina dropped one chart at the nursing station and picked up another, flipping to see the patient's most recent stats. The night shift was almost over, she was preparing charts for rounds, and she was more than ready to put this day behind her. She heard someone come up behind her but didn't bother turning to see which idiot bothered her now.

"You hanging in there, Yang?" She heard the voice of her mentor behind her. _Okay, not an idiot_.

"I'm good, Dr. Bailey. Just finishing up these notes for Dr. Torres's hip replacement today." She signed off on the medication change, made a note to recommend against the anterolateral approach, and felt the hair on her neck crinkle. _Bailey's still looking at me. _She put down her pen.

"I'm here. I have the opportunity to scrub in on at least four surgeries today. I'm fine." She resisted turning around, knowing what she would see. _The look. The look I've seen on every face for the past 24 hours. _Her frustration mounted, and she growled, "What?"

Bailey spoke softly. "Cristina, be careful. Don't expect that this hospital or your career will be able to meet your needs. It won't. You get all caught up in being a doctor, you might forget to be a person. You're good, you know that. But don't let success here take up all your energy."

Cristina turned at those words, dealing out the look of impassive neutrality when she realized that she _wasn't _getting the look. The expression that The Nazi wore was not pity, not sympathy but. . .loss? _Crap._ She remembered that Miranda Bailey had made sacrifices of her own, and that she'd been disappointed as well.

"Dr. Bailey, do you. . ." Cristina didn't know how to ask the question or how to pretend she cared. Then she realized suddenly that she _did _care about this answer. She did want to know; but still she had no clue how to ask delicately. So she asked the only way she knew how: "What's the deal with chief resident?"

Dr. Bailey shook her head as if the question touched a philosophy beyond her scope. "I do not know, Yang. I do not know." Slowly her face changed and became confident, slightly harder. "But I will say that I intend to find out which factors were considered in making this decision. And I would like to understand." Her head stilled, and then she looked Cristina in the eye. "Do not think for one minute that Dr. Torres deserves less than your complete support; she certainly has all of mine. Give her your support. If I need it as well, I will come to you for it. Do you understand me, Cristina?"

Cristina nodded.

"Good, then. She's a minority woman, in a job that not long ago wasn't open to any woman, much less a Latina or Asian or black. Don't take out any frustrations you may have with recent decisions around here on her. Understand?"

Cristina nodded, and again gave blank stare as the other woman scrutinized her face for signs that she wouldn't respect her wishes. Then Dr. Bailey nodded in return, picked up her charts, and moved down the hall.

* * *

Dr. Webber was late. He had several things he wanted to accomplish that day and only half a day in which to do them. He had a quick surgery, just to keep his hand in, an appendectomy. He also needed to convince Erica Hahn that she would be a fool not to accept the offer he'd made yesterday, to be the new head of cardio. None of his in-house people were up to the challenge yet. 

He took a moment to wonder if leaving the department's gap in capabilities had been intentional on Burke's part, but decided against that thought. That was not a move Preston Burke would have made, if only because it might have held him back in the race for chief. The second. . .the second item on his list was a bit more challenging, but he had every confidence that this offer would be accepted as well. He entered the hospital more quickly than normal, and shoved his briefcase between the closing elevator doors, refusing to wait for the next one. The doors bounced open, and he got on, spotting just the surgeon he needed.

"Derek, I need to see you this afternoon. Can you be in my office at 12:30 sharp?" He waited, and turned around when he didn't get an immediate response. "Derek?"

"I have a. . .Richard, how long is this going to take? I need to be out of there before one, for something I can't reschedule." Derek had his PDA out, and was scrolling through entries.

"Is it in the hospital?" asked Richard. Derek nodded. "Then put it off. There's nothing here, short of a patient with a partial decapitation, that is more important than this meeting."

Derek looked up at that, shocked at the inappropriate example. "Actually, that's not quite true, because. . ." The doors opened, and Richard Webber, Chief of Surgery at Seattle Grace Hospital, exited the elevator, leaving the neurosurgeon behind him.

"My office, Derek," he called out, determined to cross off the second item on the list. "Be there at 12:30, or start talking to Mercy West.

* * *

Cristina tracked down Meredith at the coffee cart. She was stirring her coffee, staring out in front of her. 

"You look worse than me, and I'm in the death throes of a 36-hour shift after being left at the altar. What's your excuse?" Cristina ordered her usual mocha latte, then turned around to stand next to Meredith and stare alongside her.

Meredith tapped the plastic stir stick against her cup, then sucked a few drops off the end. "Late night at Joe's, and I think I did something stupid. I mean, I did something. And I think it was stupid. I'm trying to decide."

"Oh, Meredith, what stupid thing did you do?" Cristina grabbed her own coffee from the barista and took a sip of the scalding liquid.

"Well, Derek was at Joe's," said Meredith, chewing on the piece of plastic.

"McDreamy was at Joe's. Of course." Cristina shook her head. "You know, you did the something stupid when you hitched your wagon to me instead of a star. So, was it good?"

"No. That wasn't the stupid thing." Meredith tossed the mangled stirrer into the trash. "I asked him to come with me to my appointment with Susan Burson."

"Seriously?" Cristina looked at her friend. "You know, he'll expect you to talk. About feelings."

"Yeah. Those." Meredith sighed. "Hey, what are you going to do?"

"About what?" Cristina looked at her, confused.

"Where are you going to live? I mean, when Burke comes back." Meredith sipped at her coffee.

"I don't think he is. But I can't stay there. But don't kick anyone out of the group home. I'm getting my old place back, or something like it." Cristina took a gulp from her cup. "Hey, your sister, what happened with that?"

"She's. . .interesting," Meredith said slowly. "You know, she was the girl Derek flirted with at the bar."

"McDreamy flirted with your sister? Wow. That's like. . .bad porn." Cristina curled her lip. "Seriously, who does that?"

"You want me to explain Derek to you, when I don't understand anything? Even myself?" Meredith tossed her empty cup into the trash. "Explain me, that would be a start."

Cristina laughed, in a not-unfriendly way. "You? You're easy. You think he's going to figure out how fucked you are and leave, so you are trying to bolt first." She smiled at Meredith, proud of her instant analysis.

Meredith rolled her eyes. "I hate you."

"I hate you, too. You're my person."

* * *

Patricia poked her head into Chief Webber's office. 

"It's Dr. Bailey, she wants to meet with you. She said she's finally shaken her new interns, and that you'll have to deal with her now. That you won't like the second choice."

Richard knew better than to call his favorite resident's bluff, just in case it wasn't one. He knew that she _could _come up with something much worse, so he nodded at Patricia, and she disappeared. He heard her telling Miranda that he wasn't as busy as she had thought, but that he had another appointment in 10 minutes. Which he did, actually, because he'd bullied Derek into coming at 12:30. And he wasn't bluffing with the threat to him, either.

Miranda Bailey entered his office as a force of nature. Her small frame could have fooled a different boss into underestimating her, but Dr. Webber knew better. He could see the tension in the way she held her head, knew her sharp intelligence, and had personally felt the sting of her words when she had lost patience with him in times past. The woman who stood before him had little respect for political maneuvering, only for results. _She'll make an excellent chief one day._

She looked him square in the face and said bluntly, "You know you've been expecting me."

"I have," he confirmed.

"Let me put this on the table first. This is not about Dr. Torres-O'Malley, not about her as a doctor or professional or person. But I need to ask you about the committee's decision. I have put so much into this hospital—I have published, I have improved patient care. I want to know which factors made the difference. I want to know so—" Her voice rang out, filling the office. But before she could find her rhythm, the chief spoke.

"Miranda, you were never considered for chief resident," he stated, taking a breath to continue.

"Never considered?" she interrupted with a frown. "It was that obvious? My name wasn't even put forward to be chief resident? Is this more fallout from the Duquette situation? Or because O'Malley is repeating his year?" The chief was losing his battle to keep his mouth still, and the corner of his mouth twitched. And he noticed Miranda notice. "Is it. . .and what is funny about this? I'll stop so you can answer that one, Chief Webber."

_Oh, she is angry. And for good reason, because this announcement should have been made before the one for chief resident._

"Dr. Bailey, the board has noticed your extra contributions to this hospital. You have chosen to stay here for your fellowship, which they—and I—appreciate. They are working on a package for your final year of residency that would recognize what you have done with the clinic and your interns." And now the smile filled his face.

She blinked. "My interns. _My_ interns? Those fools? That group of misguided trouble-makers? No. . .it doesn't matter if you mean last year's group or this year's, because I can already tell that this year is not going to be much better. What recognition would I get for my interns? And what the hell kind of package are you talking about?"

"Miranda, you haven't noticed that each year you get the most challenging group of interns?" Dr. Webber smiled.

"I thought that was just luck, sir." And she smiled back.

"No. It's a nod to you being the most likely one to control them. We attract gifted surgeons. Even brilliant ones. But the personality traits that go with that kind of genius don't always make for interns who follow the rules." Dr. Webber waited for her response.

"No, sir, I believe you are right about that." And they shared another grin, remembering certain events from her intern year.

"The offer will give you the same pay as chief resident. The responsibilities will include managing the surgeries that come through the clinic, and the other administrative duties you've taken on there." Dr. Webber sighed, "I can't say that I like you spending time on paperwork, but it's good training for you."

"Oh. Well. Okay, then." Dr. Bailey smiled.

"Look, as soon as the board gets this settled, we'll get the offer letter to you. But with two attendings leaving," Dr. Webber shook his head, "without notice—or without much, anyway—they've been behind."

"Two attendings? Burke isn't coming back? And I guess Addison took that position in LA?" Miranda clucked her tongue. "We'll miss them."

"I'll miss both of them, and so will our patients. But you are the future of Seattle Grace, Miranda Bailey." He stood and extended his hand. She took it, and shook it firmly.

"Yes, sir. Thank you again." And she smiled at him again, and left his office.

* * *

Derek looked up from the carpet he'd been pacing to see Miranda Bailey on her way out of the chief's office. _Apparently someone likes the alternative to becoming Chief Resident. _He'd been outraged when her name hadn't been on the short-list for his committee, but Dr. Webber had pulled him aside to let him know of the board's recommendation. He'd forgotten about it; even after congratulating Dr. O'Malley on her position, he hadn't remembered. _So much has been going on, there's been a lot I haven't remembered._ He nodded to Patricia as she told him to go on in. 

"Chief, you have fifteen minutes, and then Mercy West will thank their lucky stars for the new addition to their neurosurgical department," he announced as he settled into a chair in front of Richard's desk. "I don't mean to be rude, but I have a one o'clock that is crucial, and it can't be put off, and I can't be late."

"All right, Derek, I'll put my cards on the table." Richard tented his fingers on his desk, pressing the pads of his fingers together. "Two days ago, you were offered the position of chief and turned it down, telling me to stay on. But I'm not going to, not as a full-time chief. So I'm making you another offer. And if you turn this one down, I'm making it to Sloan."

"You can't make Mark Sloan your chief." As soon as the words left Derek's mouth, he winced. Mark had carried him through the last couple of days, again being the friend he once was in Manhattan. _But chief?_

"I certainly can and will if I need to. Derek, I am taking back my life. Adele and I are reconciling, and I have no intention of becoming a part-time husband. So I'm becoming a part-time chief." Richard waited.

"Part-time chief? How will that work?" Derek leaned forward, intrigued. Turning down the position had been a choice made in an instant, an intuitive knowledge that he needed to learn some balance before taking the role. Keep his personal and professional in sync. Part-time, though? Part-time he could do.

"Let me explain. I'm going to cut back to a single surgery a day. Unscheduled, because I can pick up something that comes through as an emergency. I'm going to max myself out at a regular 40 hour week, and taper down until I'm at a 20 hour week." As Richard continued to explain the changes he was making, the details of his arrangement shocked Derek.

"Hang on," he interrupted. "Adele's making you do this? Making you leave the job you love?" He shook his head. "Richard, I don't understand."

"Adele isn't making me do anything. I'm a lucky man, to have this second chance to get things right." Richard's voice reflected his peace with this decision.

Derek shifted under the scrutiny of Richard's narrowed eyes. "Okay. I get it. I understand." He waved his hands in surrender. "I just want to make sure you aren't making a decision you'll regret."

"I want this." His voice was emphatic, and Derek had no doubt in his sincerity.

"Then I won't argue with you. I accept." And Derek stood, leaned over the desk and reached for Richard's hand. He glanced down and caught sight of the small clock that had been a fixture on his mentor's desk from the first time they'd met.

_1:02_

Mouth dry, he snatched back his hand just as the chief reached to take it and bolted for the door.

"Derek?"

He heard Richard's voice behind him, and shouted over his shoulder, "I'm late for my one o'clock, dammit!"


	26. Volcano

**A/N: **I'm out of town for 3 weeks, but hope to wrap this up by 9/27. Just picked that date out of thin air, yessirree. A big thanks for this chap goes to AriaAdagio and apodiform, both of whom helped me get into Derek's head a bit. Also, a hat tip to the Mer/Der, Somebody Pick Somebody thread at TWOP, who helped me get Derek as well, even when I got a bit annoying. Because in all honesty, post-Desire Derek lost me. I hope I portrayed him as fairly as I wanted. And as always, big hugs to sarsunshine who betas--and sometimes alphas--with a keen eye for the nits to pick. Lyric by Damien Rice, suggested by apodiform. I pulled back on the lyrics, but felt that this one added.

**Volcano**

_ Don't hold yourself like that  
You'll hurt your knees  
I kissed your mouth and back  
But that's all I need  
Don't build your world around volcanoes melt you down _

"Just let me know when Derek gets here, or if you want to get started without him," said Susan, poking her head out of her office door. Sighing, Meredith tilted backward to try to see around the corner to the elevator.

"He's coming," she whispered to herself, and then cleared her throat. Louder, Meredith said, "Derek's coming. But we can go on and start, I guess." She settled into her chair, clutched her pillow. Susan hadn't blinked an eye when Meredith had told her Derek would be coming this session, and hadn't given much more of a reaction now that he was late.

_But now what do I do?_ The first few visits with Susan had been ramble-filled; she'd talked about events and her year, immediate crises the priority over any deep thought. But this visit had a purpose, or would have, if Derek showed up. _When he shows up. He is going to be here._

Suddenly, before the door shut, Meredith heard him speaking to Margaret, being told to go on in. He stood in the doorway, breathless, running a hand through his hair. But there. And he had never looked quite so wonderful to Meredith as he did in that moment, showing up.

"Hey," he said softly, and his little-boy grin charmed her to her toes. She grinned back.

"Hey," she said. "You came. Thanks." He nodded and sat, then looked at Susan, stretching out his hand for her to shake.

"I've been seeing your husband. I'm Derek Shepherd."

"Susan Burson, and yes, Jack's my husband. Although we've consulted about you, nothing you've told him will come up in here unless you choose for it to." Derek looked slightly surprised, and Susan continued, "That's just the standard line, you and Meredith control what comes up in here."

"I don't have any secrets from Meredith, so whatever helps us in here, that's fine," Derek said, as he sat down.

Susan flipped a page of her legal pad and made a note. "Well, then," she said, "let's get started. Meredith, when you invited Derek to today's session, what did you have in mind? Did you have any specific goals?"

Meredith glanced at Derek, unsure. "I didn't; I mean, I need to, we both need to talk. About the things. Because at first we didn't need to, but things got complicated. But goals? I don't know. Do we have to have goals?"

The smile Derek gave Meredith was tender. "Can I set some goals?" She nodded, and he reached for her hand and gave it a small squeeze before he turned back to Susan.

"I have goals," he said firmly. He waited for Susan to nod, and continued. "It's been a hard year, for both of us. We've both made mistakes. I just. . .Meredith doesn't let me in. And I need to know that she's in this."

"That she's in this?" Susan asked.

"Right. That's number one." Derek raised his index finger. "Meredith needs to show me that she's actually in this relationship. Does she love me? Does she see a future for us? Number two is communication," he continued, raising another finger. "Meredith builds these walls, she shuts me out. She wants me when she wants me, and then wants me to disappear. I need more than just physical intimacy, but she shuts me out and goes to her friends."

Meredith pulled her hand back from his and wrapped her arms around her chest. _It's me. I'm the problem here._ She watched Derek's hands, as he gestured, his fingers, deft from hours of surgery, tabulating her flaws.

"And number three," Derek said, holding up a third finger. "I need to know she won't leave again. I pulled her out of Elliot Bay. She was there, she was right there at the stairs to the dock. She can swim. She could have pulled herself out, but she didn't. And I can't keep going, keep watching, keep waiting, keep worrying she's going to. . .that something is going to happen."

Still clutching herself, Meredith looked down at her shoes, letting her hair fall to cover her face. _He's miserable. I make him miserable, I'm the problem. I'm at fault. _And the office faded away, became another office, Susan became another therapist, Derek wasn't there but her mother was, and it was her mother's voice she heard.

_I'm at the end of my rope. She's out of control, sullen, angry. She doesn't speak to me, refuses to talk to me when I have opportunity to be with her. When I'm working she pulls outrageous stunts. Like that party. I was called at work to pick her up from the police station, but I couldn't leave. I'm a surgeon, not a bail bondsman. She got angry because she had to wait, and destroyed her room when we got home. Honestly, I don't have time for this._ The memory faded and she realized that Susan was looking at her, had asked a question.

"Um," she cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Susan smiled reassuringly. "I asked if you had any reaction to what Derek said."

Meredith shook her head. _No. No reaction. None. _If she'd had a reaction, she was sure that the reaction would be the end, that Derek would leave. That he'd figure out just how dull and lifeless, how damaged she was. In Cristina's words, how fucked she was. And then it really would be over. No more fairy tale for Meredith Grey.

"Meredith." Susan's voice interrupted her. She looked up, and her face showed the hostile 16 year-old girl she once had been.

"What?" she snapped.

"You have a reaction. Tell him. Tell Derek how you feel about his goals?" The therapist's insistence kept Meredith from going back inside herself, from finding the space that she called _fine_.

"Mer?" Now Derek spoke, and she felt him reach toward her. "You've got to tell me what's going on." Something inside Meredith crumbled as she heard the memory of her mother's voice.

_The Meredith I knew was a force of nature, passionate, focused, a fighter. What happened to you? You've gone soft. _

The hell she had. She had fought her way back, come back to her life, chosen to live. _You son of a fucking bitch. You want reaction? You want to know what's going on inside? You say I don't let you in? I'll let you in, and when you're crying to be let out again, tell me then that I'm the love of your life. Then I might believe it._ A sudden rush of anger pulsed through her, and she fought to stay seated, to keep from screaming.

"You want to know what's going on with me, Susan?" Not just anger, but bitterness and tension strained her voice, and it cracked as the words tumbled out. "Because Derek and I don't keep secrets? That's a rich and terrible joke coming from him, don't you think? I'm impressed he kept a straight face as he said it. I'm even more impressed that I didn't bust a gut laughing. I'd think a wife was a bit of a secret, wouldn't you?" She fought for control, tried to breathe deeply.

"Mer, I meant since. . ." Derek wore his pain on his face, and she heard it as he spoke, but she couldn't bottle the words, couldn't even try.

"And then, after she showed up, he wanted to keep dating me, said I was rushing him when I didn't want to." She laughed then, a hard bitter laugh.

_ What I am to you is not real  
What I am to you you do not need  
What I am to you is not what you mean to me  
You give me miles and miles of mountains  
And I'll ask for the sea _

"Meredith," Derek started again.

"Don't Meredith me," she said, directing a glare his way. "You told me, that night at your trailer, you told me that the crap like your taste in music and books was all I'd earned." She looked back at Susan. "I guess two months of fucking him hadn't earned me the priviledge of knowing his wedding band was stuffed in his sock drawer." She was crying now, the jagged edges of her anger snagging each breath.

"And I let him in. I'm not the one who goes to the trailer, ignores phone calls. How many days was that, Derek, two? Three? And what about the night he was supposed to show up with dinner? Wait, I must be confused, because he always shows up. Except since I'm so new at this, I just didn't know about the escape clause. That you didn't need to show up when you were tired of breathing for me."

"I was trying so hard then, when Susan and Thatcher were here. I told you what was going on with me. And when I needed you, you weren't there."

"Meredith, I did show up. " Derek was angry now as well, she could tell. "I showed up and before I went inside, I saw you taking shots of tequila with your friends. You didn't need me. You ran right by me in the hospital after your father—"

"He's _not_ my father," Meredith snarled.

"Fine, after you told Thatcher about Susan, you ran right past me," Derek snapped. "And when I got to your house, you were hanging out with friends. Why would I go in, when you so clearly don't need me?"

"Stop. Right. Now." Susan's clear voice cut through their arguing. The tone in her voice pulled Derek back decades to the old Connecticut farmhouse where he grew up. He and his four sisters tormented each other, giving no mercy. Whether he'd been poking Nancy as they rode rear-facing in the very back of the station wagon, or solemnly asking Katherine's dates their intentions regarding his older sister, or if the girls were squabbling over who had borrowed whose clothes, their mother quieted them with the very same tone of voice; they'd dubbed it the Mean Mommy Voice. Not quite mean, only firm, but they knew it meant business. _Even when she didn't use our middle names. _Derek closed his eyes against the wash of nostalgia; he missed his family. Missed being around the people who loved him, who needed him just as much as he needed them. _I need my family. _He looked at Susan as she began speaking again.

_Don't throw yourself like that  
In front of me  
I kissed your mouth your back  
Is that all you need?  
Don't drag my love around volcanoes melt me down _

"You are both in pain, but you're missing each other. And you're talking to me, for the most part. That doesn't help. You have to talk to each other, not to me." She waited as Meredith leaned over to grab a tissue from a conveniently placed box. "I don't see many signs that you're listening to each other, either."

"It's hard to listen when she doesn't tell me anything," Derek said, remembering the shock of finding out from George that Meredith had panicked during her exams.

"Derek," said Susan, "don't tell me. Tell her. But first tell her how you feel, because that's the important part." Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaled, and began again.

"Meredith, I feel like you don't tell—" and he was interrupted by the therapist.

"Like you don't tell isn't a feeling, Derek. Come up with a word to tell her how you feel." He was glad her voice remained neutral; he felt lectured enough. _I don't have time for a lesson on how to talk, I've been doing it for a few decades pretty well._

"Fine," he said brusquely, and began again. Susan pointed at Meredith, and he turned to address the woman he loved. "I feel forgotten."

She had been sitting this whole time with her head bent down, sheaves of blonde obscuring her face. She looked up, using one hand to pull back the hair so she could see him. Tears still on her face, she looked at him with her eyes crinkled in confusion.

"Keep going," prompted Susan gently. "I feel forgotten when you. . .what?"

"I feel forgotten when you go to your friends with problems and I don't find out until hours after the fact," Derek growled and clenched his jaw shut.

"And I would like you to. . .?" The therapist's voice was soft.

"And I would like you to come to me as well." Derek's eyes were on Meredith's, and he silently begged her to respond. She drew in her breath, but before she could, Susan spoke.

"Wait. Don't say anything in response yet." Meredith looked at her, confused. "First, repeat back to him what he said. Put it in your own words if you want, but you need to tell him what you heard."

Meredith rolled her eyes. "Seriously?" she asked.

"Seriously," Susan replied.

"Okay, then. He said—" Susan interrupted her with a reminder to talk to Derek, and Meredith started over. "You said you felt forgotten when I shared things with my friends, and that you want me to share with you sometimes," she rattled out.

Meredith looked up at Derek. His lips twisted in a shadow of a smile as he nodded at her. _Not nearly as complicated as remembering the primary symptoms of TIA, Derek._ But she felt her own lips twitch, tempted to return the almost-smile.

"Now, Meredith," came Susan's soft prompt. "What's your reaction? Tell Derek how you're feeling."

"Um," she whispered, flicking her eyes to Susan and back to Derek. "How I'm feeling. I feel. . .confused. Overwhelmed."

"Now tell him something he does that contributes to that feeling, if you can."

Blue-green eyes stayed fixed on bright blue as Meredith spoke. "I'm not used to opening up. It's always just been me. Cristina kicks me out of bed. The other night she kicked me down the stairs to meet you at the trailer." She glanced at Susan, who only nodded before she spoke.

"Meredith, can you give Derek a pointer to help you to open up?"

Meredith blinked. "He's. . .you're asking me to do something I've never done. And I'm trying. Derek, I'm trying to open up." She shoved her palm across her cheek to catch a tear.

"Meredith, it's not as if you told me you needed me. Or that you loved me." Ignoring the therapist, Derek spoke directly to Meredith.

"I just, I do. I do need you. And I love you. But I'm not there. I'm trying to do that, be that person. I trusted you before. . ." Meredith's voice trailed off, and Derek heard, knew what was unspoken._ I trusted you before and Addison showed up. _

Derek kept his eyes with hers, fighting the urge to close them, to bury his face in his hands and weep. Suddenly he was back in the locker room, and Mer was in her bridesmaid's dress.

_If you want to break up with me so you can see other women, just do it. _He remembered the beaten expression, the sadness, the faint smile responding to his soul-baring confession, and the return to pain as he had continued his speech.

He moved forward, taking her hands in his.

"Meredith, we can go slow. Okay? I'm in this. No, look at me." He stopped and touched his thumb to her chin, forcing her to look back up. "I made mistakes. Some big ones. And I didn't get it. You've got to tell me, though. Tell me when you're scared. Give me the numbers again, maybe. Like we did for your mom." She nodded. Derek glanced at Susan, and then focused back on Meredith. "We'll get there. You told me the important parts. That you're trying. That we're both in this."

"I'm trying. I can't flip a switch and be that person. I don't know how. But. . .can you try? To be there with me, let me be quiet if I need to be?"

He nodded, and moved his hands down to grasp hers. They sat for a moment, silent.

"Meredith? Derek? I'm really proud of you. Both of you. I wanted to get to a stable place before finishing, we went a bit over." Susan reached behind her into a file drawer, and pulled out two papers, handing one to each of them. "Here's a sentence map for you guys to use. It's what we worked with today. Make another appointment with Margaret, okay?"

The three of them stood, and they headed to the door. Susan watched the couple head to the elevators before giving herself kudos for a good session, one that could have gone much worse.

_ This is nothing new  
No no just another phase of finding what I really need  
Is what makes me bleed,  
And like a new disease she's still too young to treat  
Like a distant tree  
Volcanoes melt me down  
She's still too young  
I kissed your mouth  
You do not need me_


	27. Watch this space

This summer, I'm finishing last summer's fic. I was stalled, not only by my Drama in Real Life (which, btw, is still IN PROCESS, and don't get me started. . .this is my happy place), but because Shonda & Co started stealing my ideas. Yeah, you know they did. Callie was always going to move in with Cristina. Lexie crushing on George? I had that coming too. Okay, there was no Thorny Shrub in mine, because even I couldn't make McDreamy that much of a McDumbass. But tell me--where did you read about Mer in therapy first? That's right. And the Mark/Derek BFF? Okay, everyone did that last summer, but still.

AND can I just say that in the candle-house scene, when Mer is calling herself 9-kinds of idiot for showing up there? Totally reminded you of when I had her wake up on the trailer steps all muddy, didn't it? Well it did me.

So.

Watch this space.


End file.
